


Three Times

by TheDistantDusk



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-01-22 03:19:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12472292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDistantDusk/pseuds/TheDistantDusk
Summary: It took a few moments to change their lives forever. This is a story, in three parts.Inspired by blvnk-nsfw on Tumblr. Please heed content warnings; this is M for a reason.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the glorious art from blvnk's nsfw account on Tumblr, here is a depiction of each of the three times that changed Harry and Ginny's lives forever. Please heed content warnings-- this is an extremely sexually explicit story. 
> 
> This is also my first fanfic in about 10 years, ish? I always appreciate positive, constructive criticism. Please read and review!

“Oh-ho! Look who’s decided to come.” Ginny’s voice drawled from across the living room of the Burrow. She was holding a tumbler of amber liquid—Harry could only assume it was firewhiskey—and eyeing her husband with a particular amount of disdain.

  
Both of her legs were draped over one side of the chair by the fireplace, her back propped against the other. She was wearing a pair of his boxers and a low-cut t-shirt as she swirled her drink, still regarding him with loathing. In spite of this, he couldn’t help but notice how she had crossed her freckled ankles rather daintily above her red painted toes, her hair piled into an effortlessly elegant bun. He’d always loved how she unconsciously embodied these tiny feminine details—never going over the top, mind, but just enough to remind you that she was, in fact, a woman. Not that Harry had needed any reminders of that past the age of 16.

  
He knew she was allowing him this moment of silent contemplation, a moment to drink in a sight he hadn’t been able to see in weeks. The flames from the fireplace were dancing back in her eyes, and her face was slightly flushed from the firewhiskey. Per usual, he thought she looked gorgeous. Per usual, he also knew he was absolutely _fucked_.

  
“So much for coming in quietly, then,” Harry muttered mostly to himself as raked his fingers through his hair. He took a tentative step forward before slowly sinking down onto the couch across from her. He knew she was beyond furious—she had every right to be, really. But Harry Potter was a Gryffindor, goddammit; he wouldn’t back down from a challenge. Even when this particular challenge involved his wife’s temper. He swallowed and tipped his head up to meet her gaze.

  
He immediately knew he’d been right—she wasn’t simply angry or annoyed or frustrated. No. This was pure, unadulterated rage, the type that couldn’t be negotiated over chocolates and flowers and murmured apologies. She narrowed her eyes at him and flashed a look of sheer contempt before taking another long draw from her glass. She’d gone past the point of mere anger hours ago. Weeks ago, probably, if he were being honest with himself.

  
As if confirming his point, she slowly reached behind her head and took out the elastic band that loosely contained her fiery locks. Harry gritted his teeth as she shook her head back and forth, allowing her beautiful red tresses to tumble—as if in slow-motion—from her neck down to her shoulders. Her pert breasts swayed from the gentle motion, and even from here, he could tell that her nipples were hard. Harry heard himself whimper involuntarily, and he quickly tried (and failed) to turn this into clearing his throat, leaning back on the sofa in a halfhearted attempt at appearing disinterested.

  
A quick glance in Ginny’s direction showed a smirk playing at the corners of her lips. She wasn’t fooled; she knew what she was doing to him.

  
It was common knowledge that Harry had _a thing_ for her hair. He loved the flowery way it smelled, the way it felt like silk beneath his fingers, the way she moaned from deep in her throat when he gripped it. Ginny, in all of her perceptiveness, had discovered this “hair thing” before they’d even left Hogwarts. But now she was using this knowledge in ways he’d never thought imaginable.

  
He gripped the arm of the couch a bit harder as she finally made eye contact. But Ginny wasn’t through torturing him—not yet. She finished her drink in one gulp and set her glass down on the table. In one smooth motion, she crossed her arms over her chest, pushed her cleavage up above her low-cut top, and arched an eyebrow in his direction. _Your move, Potter._

  
And that was the final straw. Harry moaned and rubbed his hands over his face. He couldn’t take it anymore—not after one bloody month. Thirty-one days. 744 hours. Not that Harry was counting.

  
Their eyes met, and there was a moment of pained silence between them as the fire crackled.

  
“Gin,” he finally sighed in resignation, rubbing his hands over his face again. “Look, I know you’re mad, alright? What do you want me to do—grovel on the ground? Publicly humiliate myself? Because I will. You _know_ that.”

  
A mildly interested expression crossed Ginny’s face and she began to examine a cuticle. “Might be nice,” she said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t mind the humiliation bit. Would make us closer to even, yeah?”

  
But of all the things Harry had expected her to come back with, he never would have factored humiliation into the equation. It seemed that even years later, he still had a lot of learn about her.

  
“In what way did I humiliate you?” he asked, completely nonplussed.

  
She fixed him with a sharp but blazing glare and returned to her fingernails. She took a deep breath, and Harry could tell she was trying to collect her anger well enough to provide him with a proper response. They rarely fought, but when they did, their usually playful banter tended to take a nasty nosedive.

  
“Well, you see, Harry,” she finally drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “it isn’t _quite_ a normal thing for an adult husband to force his adult wife into protective custody against her will...”

  
She trailed off, shifting a bit in the chair and wiggling her bum against the seat. Harry sucked in a breath. Yes. She knew _exactly_ what she was doing.

  
“For a husband,” she continued, as if she’d never stopped, “to completely lack faith in his wife’s own ability to protect herself. For a husband to treat his wife like a bloody _child_."

  
Harry sputtered indignantly, throwing his hands up in the air. At this, Ginny smirked a bit. In his defense, she knew only part of that had been fair. But she also knew he wasn’t getting off the hook that easily.

“And how, exactly, did you expect me to address the fact that a literal Death Eater wanted to kill you?” Harry asked pointedly, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone was cool—distant, even—but after three years of marriage, Ginny knew better.

  
“Welllll,” Ginny started, her voice dripping with that mock-thoughtful tone that Harry hated so much, “I have some little ideas. But of course, I wouldn’t want to interfere with _your_ expertise.” She batted her eyes daintily.

  
He rolled his eyes and groaned. He hated when she played dirty like this, no matter how much he deserved it. He also knew chances of having sex tonight were getting slimmer and slimmer by the second. But if he had any intention of shagging her tonight-- or ever in future, really-- he’d have to suck it up and play her game.

  
“Then what,” Harry replied, never wavering from her ferocious glare, “would some of your suggestions have _been_ , dearest wife?” He knew he had no right to even pretend to be mad. But he also knew that he had a point somewhere.

  
Ginny tapped a finger on her chin in mock consideration. “Hmm, I don’t know, Harry,” she began slowly, “even my obsessive prat of a brother allows his wife—Hermione Granger-Weasley, you may have heard the name once or twice—to stay at their flat during particularly dangerous missions.”

  
Harry snorted, but said nothing. They both knew that wasn’t the whole truth, even if it was edging around it a bit.

  
This whole mess of a situation with the mission had started when Dolohov, Voldemort’s last straggler, had started sending lascivious handwritten letters about Ginny to the Auror Department. Harry reckoned the impetus had been Dolohov getting ahold of the recent swimsuit edition of the Holyhead Harpies calendar, an edition which Harry wasn’t particularly keen on the public having in the first place. Once Dolohov had made the connection to Harry, though, the rest had been easy. The letters had started in an apparent attempt to rattle the Chosen One and his family, and as much as Harry hated to admit it, he’d succeeded. It had taken months to collect enough intelligence for Kingsley to even justify a mission to track Dolohov—which was quite a painfully long wait for both Harry and Ron, who had been working nonstop to try to find him.

  
On the flipside, the whole mess of a situation with _Ginny_ had started two days before Harry was scheduled to leave for said mission. Harry and Ron had arrived at work one day to discover that Dolohov had sent a final missive, but this one didn’t contain his run-of-the-mill, vaguely-creepy shite. No, this letter was focused almost entirely on the creaminess of Ginny’s skin and the exact ways in which he’d love to defile her.

  
In response, Harry (by his own admission) had gone completely berserk. Without skipping a beat, he’d immediately insisted that Ginny relocate from their flat. Ron had tried to warn him that telling Ginny what to do was generally a bad idea, but Harry had refused to listen— _Hermione_ wasn’t being targeted like this, after all. What did _he_ know? Ron had shrugged and returned to his work, but a knowing smile had played on his lips. And yeah, if Harry had listened to his best mate, perhaps things would have turned out differently. But as he saw it, there had only been two choices: the Burrow (under constant Auror surveillance) or a ministry-approved safe house.

  
Harry wasn’t particularly sure why he’d landed on the Burrow as Ginny’s other option, but in retrospect, it was probably because Bill had cast a number of security enchantments on the Weasley home following the birth of his daughter. With the possible exception of a safe house, Harry hadn’t really been able to come up with a better choice in the few days before he’d had to leave. Ginny—whose season with the Harpies had ended before they even reached the playoffs—had a different opinion. But as much as she’d hated the idea of living with her parents again, she’d hated the idea of being in some musty old safe house even more.

  
Now that the mission was over, Harry could admit—if only to himself— that he’d perhaps taken things a bit too far. They’d found Dolohov a few hours ago, and just as Ginny had predicted, he’d been hidden far away in a cave, nearly starving. Dolohov had willingly gone into custody, cackling like a madman as MLE took him away. He’d been a bully to the end, all bark and no bite.

  
Harry cleared his throat loudly. If possible, his wife looked even angrier with him than when he’d first arrived. But he’d have to be honest with her; she _deserved_ that. His blood thundered in his ears, and his cock twitched again rather hopefully. Being around Ginny always produced this physical reaction, especially after being away for so long. He tilted his head up to meet her gaze from across the room one final time, and something electric crackled between them. They both knew it had been far, _far_ too long.

  
Ginny furiously whipped her head away from him, affording him a better peek at her chest. She was now close enough for him to see a subtle red rash spreading from her neck downwards. He loved watching her flush; it was almost a full-body experience for Ginny, whose entire face, neck and chest would turn bright red whenever she felt a particularly strong emotion. Right now, though, she was red from anger and not arousal. So much for his plans.

  
He’d been able to wank a few times while he’d been out on the mission, always before bed, always quietly, so as not to disturb the others. It was only natural that even in that environment, he’d tossed himself off to visions of her on top of him, beneath him, kneeling in front of him; she’d been the only star of his masturbation fantasies since he turned 16, and not much had changed in that regard. But as Ginny was well aware, wanking had never satisfied him for long. At this point, he positively needed her, her body as much a primal need as oxygen.

  
He swallowed audibly as she shifted in her seat again, her breasts bouncing enticingly. Sod it. They’ve have time for a long, drawn-out talk tomorrow. Right now, he wanted her too badly. The time for games was over.

  
Without breaking eye contact, Harry stood up and strode over to her armchair in five heated steps. He stopped to tower over her as he gripped the sides of the chair. She sucked in a breath at the closeness between them. Her amber eyes were already clouded over, but her brow was still furrowed in frustration. Never one to be deterred, though, Harry leaned in a bit closer, nuzzling her neck with his stubbled chin. She gasped and arched her back a bit in response. Maybe this was going to be easier than he thought.

  
“Mrs. Potter,” he murmured, moving to nibble her ear’s outer shell. It was a turn-on for both of them when he called her that. She shuddered beneath him, and Harry smirked. Was it time to move in for the kill by touching her hair? “Have you missed me as much as I missed you?” he breathed, massaging the base of her neck.

  
Apparently, though, that was entirely the wrong thing to say. Ginny’s eyes snapped open and she seized his chin in her hands, glaring at him like he was the sole source of all the anger she’d ever felt. He groaned disappointedly in his throat, his green eyes boring into hers. This was going to result in a row and not a shag, after all. Goddamn his libido for making him overly confident!

  
“Damn straight, I missed you,” she hissed through clenched teeth. Harry caught a whiff of the firewhiskey on her breath. She’d been drinking for longer than she’d let on, but she knew how to hold her liquor, his wife.

  
“You’ve not only _left_ me, Harry Potter,”— she gripped his chin even more tightly—“you’ve forced me to stay with my bloody parents while you were off doing more important things. I vowed I’d never let you do that again—not for as long as I fucking _lived_.”

  
He caught a sudden flash of vulnerability and sadness in her eyes, but it was replaced in a moment with even more outrage. Shit shit shit. He was in deeper trouble than he’d known. He hadn’t even thought about it like that—like he was leaving her behind all over again.

  
“You treat me like I’m some fucking toy you can take out and return to the shelf. I’m. Your. Fucking. Wife,” she gritted, angry tears slipping from the corners of her eyes. She met him with a piercing gaze for one more moment before she pushed on his chest, jumping up from her chair.

  
“And if you don’t mind,” she added heatedly, “we can _talk_ in my room. I’d rather not have my parents overhear me murdering my husband.” He scarcely had time to raise out his hand before she snatched it and turned on the spot, side-along apparating him upstairs before he could say another word.

  
They landed with a soft _thud_ in the middle of her childhood bedroom. Harry had a brief moment of appreciation for her ability to apparate so perfectly despite her present emotional state, but all thoughts vanished as she relinquished his hand and shoved him towards the far wall. Clearly, she wanted to put as much distance between them as possible. He watched Ginny smolder in anger as she paced across the other side, still only clad in his boxers and that low-cut shirt. Pacing that heatedly was no small feat in a room as tiny as this one.

  
For the first time that night, Harry eyed her with a legitimate sense of fear—mostly for himself, of course. She’d just been joking about the whole murdering thing, right? Cause wouldn’t that be a pisser, if he’d lived through the reign of bloody Voldemort only to be killed by the thing he loved most in the entire world. A lump formed in his throat and he swallowed thickly, shaking his head.

  
He really, _really_ did love her—he knew it now as much as he knew it at Hogwarts, even if he couldn't articulate it at the time. How could he not? He smiled in spite of himself as he watched her stomp and grumble, the perfect package of fire and brass and bravery. She was the only person who knew how to immediately rip him out of a strop. She was still his biggest source of comfort whenever things went awry, the solid foundation on which he built his life.

  
He knew that was sappy, but he didn’t give a shite, not anymore. This was why he’d sent her here in the first place: to protect her. Because quite honestly, if anything happened to her, he wouldn’t be able to keep going. Maybe that made him selfish for sending her, but it was the truth.

  
After a few moments, Harry took his wand out of his pocket and cast a quiet silencing charm around the room. Ginny, who was still too angry to coherently speak, was running her hands through her hair and muttering about “wankers” and “arsehole noble prats.” He looked at her again and sighed. She wasn’t going to like this next part—he knew that much. But it was necessary to do this before things got out of hand.

  
Even though he knew he’d get in even deeper shite for it, Harry nonverbally summoned her wand from across the room. _Sorry, love, it’s got to be done. You’d do it yourself if I hadn’t pissed you off so much._ Ginny stopped pacing long enough cry out in frustration as her wand flew out of her waistband and into his hand.

  
In a well-practiced routine, he then took both of their wands and placed them on top of the highest bookshelf in her room, lifting his palms towards her in a sign of surrender. Ron and Hermione had taught them that, actually—never go into an argument with a wand. Harry liked to think this strategy had spared him a few Bat Bogeys over the years, even if he doubted she’d ever gotten mad enough to actually use it. Tonight, though, all bets were off; Harry knew she’d never been this mad at him, not even after Voldemort’s death.

  
She eyed him with a mixture of hurt and confusion over the loss of her wand before turning her back to him, arms crossed over her chest. She was, she hoped, able to hide the fact that she was nearly as aroused as she was furious. Of course, Ginny knew she’d never be able to suss this whole thing out if she kept facing him, kept noticing the way his stubble had grown in, kept seeing his muscles ripple on his arms as he took command.

  
Godric, why was that turning her on so much?! She shook her head to clear it. _Fuck, Ginny, think! If Harry is voluntarily putting his wand to the side—willingly giving up the one thing that he could truly use for protection— this probably meant that…thank Merlin…_

  
“So you’ve caught him then?” she blurted, whipping around to face him. Her arms were still crossed on her chest, and Harry tried his hardest not to stare at the creamy exposed skin. He clenched his fists, a vein throbbing in his neck.

  
“Yes, we’ve caught him,” he rasped, eyes never wavering from hers. He hoped she couldn’t tell that he was growling from arousal and not indignation.

  
She arched an eyebrow and sniffed in response, adjusting her arms beneath her breasts. Harry swallowed a groan in his throat as the perfect mounds bounced beneath her shirt. Suddenly he was 16 again and snogging her by the lake; even then, she frequently utilized this arm-crossing tactic to inform him that, _no_ , she wasn’t wearing a bra, and _yes_ , she wanted him to do something about it.

  
He clenched his fists even harder and slammed his eyes shut at the memory. _Fuck_. It had been too long.

  
“So I ‘spose that means,” she continued casually, beginning to pace again, “that you probably didn’t need to lock me up against my will for several weeks. Wouldn’t you agree, Harry?”

  
He tensed his jaw and stared at the ground, shuffling a bit.

  
“I _said_ ,” Ginny repeated, sauntering towards him with purpose, “that you _didn’t. Fucking. Need. To. Lock. Me. Up._ ” She punctuated every pause with a sharp jab to his chest from her index finger and arched her eyebrow, challenging him.

  
Harry grunted in response and grabbed her wrist with his right hand, meeting her piercing gaze. But this wasn’t enough of an answer for her—never had been, really. She’d been raised in a house where you had to clearly communicate to get attention, and she expected the same from her husband.

  
She felt the sparks crackle between their gazes for a few seconds as they both breathed heavily. But dammit, she refused to let him get away with it this easily, even as the liquid started to pool between her thighs while he held tightly to her wrist.

  
“Very well, then.” Ginny ripped her wrist out of his hand and turned to walk away. She took two steps away from him and stopped by the closed door, her back still facing him.

  
“I suppose that since I can’t get a straight answer out of my complete arse of a husband, I’ll go ahead and apparate to our flat. It’s obviously safe now—“

  
“-I WANTED to fucking keep you safe!” Harry roared across her. The veins in his neck were bulging and he was panting very heavily. He swore loudly and kicked at a box on her floor. Any semblance of arousal he’d felt had been replaced with white-hot rage, the anger coursing through his body quicker than he possibly could have anticipated. He couldn’t remember ever getting this mad before, not this fast. Couldn’t she see how serious this was—how much she meant to him?

  
Ginny stood frozen in place and stared at him, mouth agape. Harry absolutely never got this angry—screaming and kicking things was more of a Weasley trait, she had to admit. When they fought, he was usually the type to resort to silent, cold ire. He was a master at being passive-aggressive, which annoyed her to no end; she’d frankly rather just have a loud row and be done with it. Now, though, her normally mild-mannered husband—the same one who had tea parties with Victoire and Teddy, who knew how to plait her hair, who never forgot a single birthday or anniversary— was instead filled with this primal, unbridled fury.

  
And despite the complete inappropriateness of the situation, she couldn’t deny that it was turning her on even more.

  
“Fucking hell, Gin!” he shouted, completely oblivious to her tiny whimper of arousal as he paced across the carpet. “You’re everything to me…absolutely, completely _everything_! You’re the first thing I think of when I wake up! You’re the only person I’ve _ever_ wanted to spend my life with, the only person I’ve _ever_ wanted to have children with! You’re still the _only_ goddamn person I’ve ever really wanted to make love with—“

  
Wait…what? Ginny snapped out of her reverie and opened her mouth as if to object, but Harry turned around and immediately cut across her with a pointed index finger. Anger was still pulsing behind his green eyes.

  
“—and don’t you DARE start in about Cho, because we both know I had no bloody idea how girls worked before you showed me yourself.”

  
Ginny bit her lip and looked to the side. She had to admit he was right on that one. It had taken nearly all of their time at Hogwarts for him to even touch her _through_ her knickers. She’d finally helped his hand a bit one day by the lake when she realized he was even more oblivious than she thought.

  
She groaned in frustration, but shook her head. As arousing as those memories were, nothing excused the fact that he’d kept her captive.

  
“I’ve never doubted that you loved me, Harry!” she cried, exasperated, “But you can’t just expect me to welcome you with open arms when you’ve made me a prisoner!”

  
He stopped pacing and stared at her, his green eyes blazing; he rarely had a look this charged when weren’t making love.

  
“And what the hell do you suggest, Gin?” he snarled. “Just leave you completely unprotected while someone specifically targeted you? What was I to do?”

  
She laughed humorlessly. “Hermione didn’t get ensconced with her fucking parents, did she?” But even as she said it, Ginny knew that bit was unfair, mostly because--

  
“RON didn’t get a letter about the loveliness of Hermione’s fucking skin!” He kicked another box.

  
Ginny shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “And what came of him writing about my skin, Harry? You’ve refused to give me literally any details, so I’m going to go ahead and assume that this entire thing was a waste of time.”

  
Harry grumbled a bit and scuffed his shoes against the floor, hands in his pockets.

  
Ginny snorted. “I figured as much.”

  
“But this was about your bleeding SAFETY, Ginny!” he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of the room. Goddamit, did she _really_ not understand this?

  
“And was it about my safety when you forced me into the Room of Requirement during the battle?” She crossed her arms again.

  
He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Look,” he finally sighed, defeated. “I know I’m a prat, alright? You’re right. I’m wrong. I need to find a way to protect you that doesn’t involve treating you like this. You’ve made that point _abundantly_  clear.”

  
Damn. And they said _Ron_ was thick.

  
“That’s not the problem, Harry!” she retorted, rising up to her feet, “I’ve never needed anyone to protect me! And I certainly don’t need you—or anyone else—to tell me what the hell to do!”

  
They were both breathing quite heavily now, green eyes penetrating brown with a heady mix of desire, pent-up sexual frustration and unresolved anger. They’d been dancing around this since Harry apparated in.

  
“You know, it’s a shame I love you so much,” she said roughly, shoving him against the door’s wooden panel. “Because I wouldn’t tolerate this overprotective bullshit from another living soul.”

  
They were now so close that he could count the individual freckles that dotted their way across her nose. Ginny licked her lips once and arched her eyebrows—a test— and Harry knew it was all over. Accepting defeat, he dove in for a crushing kiss, roughly gripping the back of her head as he plunged his tongue into her mouth. Their teeth clacked, but she melted almost immediately, thrusting herself in his mouth before running her tongue over his bottom lip.

  
He groaned and gripped her tighter, still staring deeply into her eyes. His erection had already reached a painful intensity, and he wanted her to feel it—to know what just the slightest bit of her did to him, in case she’d somehow forgotten. In one fluid motion, he twirled her around on the spot so that she could feel his hot breath on her neck. She whimpered a bit when he ground his hard cock into her bum.

  
“That’s a good thing. Because you shouldn’t ever tolerate this from anyone else. You’re _mine_ ,” he snarled into her ear, ripping her— _his?—_  boxers down. She hissed at the sensation of the cool air hitting her thighs. He thrust her against the door jamb, one hand fisted in her hair as he massaged the back of her neck.

  
She moaned from deep in her throat and brought her hand around to play with her nipples through her shirt. He grunted as he rubbed himself against her gloriously naked bum. They both knew she didn’t sleep in knickers; tonight was no exception.

  
“Well, don’t you ever fucking lock me up again,” she snapped, interrupted with a moan as his finger found her sopping slit.

  
“Won’t,” he agreed swiftly, and she could hear his trousers unbuckling. There was no time to completely remove them, not when they were both so desperate for the contact.

  
She smirked wickedly to herself. Harry may have admitted that he was wrong, but she wasn’t quite done torturing him, not yet— this had been a fairly serious grievance, after all. She thrust her bare bum into the air behind her, knowing that it would touch his exposed cock. And as she felt his hardened member throbbing against her, and she knew she’d made the right choice. He growled in response to the friction, still maintaining a grip on her hair with one hand.

  
“I know you’re perfectly capable,” he gritted as she wiggled against him torturously. Merlin, she was positively sopping wet—so much that he could feel it, even from this angle. He couldn’t even begin to anticipate how amazing it would feel to finally slide into her again.

  
But he wanted to finish with this apology, dammit, so he could make love to his wife without feeling like an incredible tosser.

  
“I’m sorry, Gin, that I locked you up here,” he continued in a strained voice as she reached behind with one of her hands to rub his cock up and down in the space between her arse cheeks. The other hand was still playing with one of her nipples, and he knew that by now they’d risen to sharp rosy peaks.

  
He tried not to lose focus—thinking about her tits always did that to him—and he bit back another growl while her tiny fist continued its delicious torment.

  
“It won’t happen again,” he managed between breaths. “I trust and love you. I’m sorry that I don’t always know how to show it, but I’m _learning_.” His voice pitched up a bit on the last word because she’d decided to swirl the pre-cum from his cock around the head of it. She giggled and spread her legs.

  
He looked down at her sopping pussy and envisioned how perfectly it would fit around his throbbing member. Fuck, did she seriously expect him to last long if she kept doing that? It’d been too bloody long.

  
As if sensing his thoughts, Ginny murmured, “That’s enough for now, I think.” She grabbed his cock from behind her and stood on the tips of her toes, finally sliding it between her folds.

  
They moaned in unison at the sensation, and he started to lessen his grip on her hair. In response, she shot her hand up to his wrist, holding it in place as she gritted, “Don’t you dare, Harry Potter.”

  
He smirked in acquiescence and held onto her hair tighter, relishing in how the back of her neck was already turning a deep crimson. Her skin always got redder when she got turned on (or angry) and the knowledge that he could make that happen was one of his favorite things in the world.

  
Ginny began to moan as he continued to thrust in and out of her, and he was acutely aware of the friction afforded by this new position. He grunted, setting his jaw so she could seek her own release. They had an unspoken agreement that her orgasm would always take first priority; witches first, and all that. And judging by the way her walls were starting to contract around him, he reckoned she didn’t have long to go…

  
In this midst of this, Harry actually had a brief moment where he thought he was keeping control fairly well, all things considered; he hadn’t had a shag in a month, and his gorgeous, fuck-hot wife was moaning and bouncing on his cock. What more could a bloke ask for, really?

  
But then, Ginny changed things up a bit, and this almost spelled disaster. Still panting deeply, she adjusted herself and brought her hands around to hold his hips in place. She changed her motion to swirl herself against him, moaning with even greater intensity every time his cock was completely encased in her warmth.

  
It was then that all thoughts of keeping control were dashed; he made the mistake of looking down at where their bodies were joined.

  
Oh fuck, _fuck,_ fuck!

  
The wetness from her walls had completely coated his shaft, and she was so sopping than the boxers she was wearing—which he was _sure_ had been gray—were now almost completely black. He slammed his eyes shut just in time and stilled inside her, narrowly avoiding spurting at the sight. _Fuuuuuck._

  
“Gin,” he said warningly as she continued to rock herself against him, seemingly blind to his plight, “I- I can’t hold out for long…you’ve got to- to get there-”

  
She moaned deeply in response. His eyes were still slammed shut. One ill-positioned stroke, and this whole thing would be over very, _very_ quickly.

  
“’S ok,” she panted, “I’m close.”

  
She grabbed frantically for his free hand, groping for the one that wasn’t fisted in her hair. But he was two steps ahead— he understood what she needed.

  
Harry reached his hand around to her front and brushed against her sodden curls and her clit. Ginny whimpered, but he’d known that wouldn’t be enough. He shifted his hand up and pressed his thumb against the nub of her clit as hard as he could. Immediately, he felt her start to pulse and contract around his cock as she let out a loud, high-pitched keening sound. “ _Haaaarrrryyy_ ,” she cried, holding his thumb in place as she rode out her orgasm.

  
So that was it for him too, then—the sight of her plump little arse bouncing on his glistening cock, the feel of her walls rippling up and down his shaft, the sound of his name quivering on her lips—and he thrust once, twice, before he saw stars. Still holding her in place, he bellowed her name as his release ripped through him, shooting off inside her with more intensity than he’d had in ages. 

  
Breathing heavily and leaning against each other, he removed his now-soft penis from between her folds. As much as he mourned the loss of contact, he knew they were both too exhausted to stay upright for long.

  
“So,” Ginny panted, as she pulled her—his?— boxers up, “in conclusion. You will never fucking lock me up again.”

  
Harry snorted and began to buckle up his own trousers.

  
“Point taken. But if that was supposed to be a threat, you might want to work on your tactics.”

* * *

  
Three weeks later, Ginny sat huddled in the middle of their bed. Her arms were wrapped around her knees, her body taking up the tiniest possible amount of space. Even with her fair complexion, she looked extremely pale; her fiery hair stood out almost garishly against her skin.

  
Her stomach roiled and pitched, but she couldn’t tell if it was just from anxiety. Was it a bit too early for that particular symptom? Merlin, she really had no idea what the hell she was doing.

  
But nonetheless, Ginny was a Gryffindor to the core. And it was time to get this part over with, dammit, even if she’s only just found out about it herself. The test sitting the counter of the loo wasn’t something she could just ignore, after all.

  
So she began to speak, her raspy voice breaking the blanketed silence. “H-Harry?” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. _Calm down. This isn’t necessarily a_ bad _thing._

  
Harry, who’d been sitting in the other room, heard the sense of unease in his wife’s voice—what could possibly have _Ginny_ sounding that afraid?— and set down his copy of the paper. He’d been keeping tabs on the reporting of the Dolohov case, wanting to make sure they got the details right.

  
He got up and strode to the doorway of their bedroom. Ginny was sitting huddled on the bed, rocking back and forth slightly. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, as if she were a million miles away. His stomach clenched. Anything that spooked her this badly had to be pretty serious.

  
“You ok?” he asked, eyes filled with concern. She let out a shaky laugh and continued to rock.

  
Well, _that_ hadn’t been the reaction he was expecting. Growing even more confused, Harry settled down beside her on the bed, still peering at her with that adorable mixture of care and worry that she’d fallen in love with so many years ago. He placed a hand on her back and began to stroke it up and down, just like she did when he was upset.

  
She took another deep breath.

  
“Um,” she began, plucking absentmindedly at the bedspread as he continued to stroke her, “do you remember what happened about three weeks ago? In my bedroom? Right when you got back from the mission, I mean?”

  
His face split into a wide grin and he chuckled a little, his hand never stopping its path up and down her back.

  
“Yeah, Gin, I reckon I’m not likely to forget something like that. Taking you up against the door was…” he swallowed thickly and shook his head, trying to clear the images. Obviously, something had majorly upset her; he needed to be there for his wife, and it wouldn’t do for him to go into those particular thoughts, not while she was so distraught.

  
“Right,” Ginny murmured, still staring blankly ahead, “and do you happen to remember that neither one of us had the presence of mind to cast a certain charm before you put our wands away?”

  
Harry cocked his head to the side. A charm? But he’d silenced the room, that shouldn’t have been an issue, and… _oh_. His breath caught in his throat and his hand froze.

  
Neither one spoke for several long moments. The rush of Ginny’s heartbeat thundered in her head, and she pulled her legs in tighter

  
“I thought you…erm…cast it in the morning?” he finally croaked. They’d been shagging for years, after all; he was rather familiar with their contraceptive routine.

  
“Well, I normally do,” she sighed, “but I’d been locked up for so long that I’d just gotten out of the habit. After a week or so, it just felt rather lonely to keep casting something on myself that I’d never use.”

  
He nodded mutely. He couldn’t blame her, not when he hadn’t remembered to cast it either. Not when he hadn’t even thought about it beforehand.

  
“So...that means you’re…sure, then?”

  
But even as he asked it, Harry realized she hadn’t gotten her monthly, had she? Not that he kept particularly close track of things like that—it was just something he’d come to notice, since she always insisted that they take a break from shagging for a few days a month while (in Ginny’s own words) “her uterus exacted revenge.” But this time they hadn’t had to take a single break, not since he’d been home.

  
She snorted softly. “Yes, Harry. You could say I’m _positive_ , actually.”

  
He let out a wheezy little chuckle, but didn’t ask to see the proof. She reckoned her husband was a smart man—he must’ve put the pieces together himself.

  
She glanced over at the man in question for the first time since her revelation. All of the color had drained from his face, but he didn’t look…angry. Just terrified, really. His mouth kept opening and closing like a fish out of water, as if he had ideas, but no fully-formed way to express them.

  
It was a fairly pitiful sight—one that inexplicably reminded Ginny of the pale, messy-haired little boy who had so tentatively asked her mother for help to get onto a train platform. She smiled and reached for his hand. He automatically interlaced their fingers on top of the bedspread and set their hands back down. She leaned into his shoulder and released a deep sigh she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

  
Harry pressed his lips to her temple and took her in his arms. In one swift motion, he scooted down on the bed a bit and laid her down beside him, positioning her head to rest on his chest. They laid like that for a few moments, both breathing deeply, both lost in their own thoughts, their fingers still intertwined.

  
But then Harry cleared his throat, and when he spoke, something in his tone had drastically changed, even from a few moments ago.

  
“This is brilliant, Gin,” he whispered, his voice full of reverence. He brought up his hand to stroke her hair, gently pushing some stray strands away from her face.

  
She lifted her head from his chest and looked at him quizzically. “Yeah?” she asked, trying to confirm the answer for herself.

  
“ _Yes_ ,” he said firmly, meeting her gaze. He cupped her chin in his hands.

  
“Look,” he continued. “I know this wasn’t exactly what he planned on—not right _now_ —but I’m really happy about it. Thrilled, actually, to tell you the truth." Harry's voice broke at the end, and she noticed that even through his grin, the corners of his eyes were a bit damp.

  
She chuckled in response and brushed away a stray tear of her own.

  
“I’ve always wanted a family. Well, once I realized I was going to live past 1998, anyway.” He said this almost-thoughtfully, gripping her hand more tightly. She swallowed and shook her head. Even now—years later—she hated it when that possibility so much as crossed her mind.

  
“I know we’re a bit young,” he said, staring at her with so much devotion that her chest welled up and the tears began pouring out; she tried to convince herself that it was just the hormones, “and you’re probably already bit worried about what’ll happen with the Harpies. But it’s going to be ok, Ginny. No, it’ll be better than ok. You’re having a baby— _my_ baby!”

  
His voice broke again in wonderment, as if he couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was. He shook his head again. “I can’t think of anything that would make me happier, to be honest.”

  
She couldn’t help but grin in response. He was still the only person who knew exactly what to say to her. She had every confidence that he was telling the truth, too; during the few times they’d discussed having kids, he said he’d been content to wait for her, and not the other way around. After seeing how much he loved Teddy, this shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

  
He brought his palm down to her abdomen and rubbed his thumb against the tiny swell below her bellybutton. That teeny little mound of flesh on her otherwise athletic build had always been there, he knew—but he also knew that it was bound to get bigger. And for some reason, that knowledge was causing a stirring in his trousers.

  
She stared at his hand on her stomach. “Y-yeah?” she repeated shakily, a little more certainty in her voice.

  
“Yeah,” he replied, kissing her on the forehead again.

  
“Besides,” he smiled pleasantly, beginning to play with her hair as she settled her head on his chest again, “I’m rather chuffed that I have such strong swimmers. I was always vaguely worried I’d be the missing link—you Weasleys seem to ooze fertility out of your pores.”

  
Ginny laughed and began playing with his shirt. He wasn’t wrong there; Bill, George and Percy had already gotten their partners up the duff on accidental occasions.

  
“Yes, love. That’s the real message here. Harry Potter is an extremely virile, powerful wizard,” she whispered, nuzzling his chest.

  
“And don’t you forget it,” Harry murmured, kissing her knuckles.

* * *

  
Telling her mother was faster than Ginny expected— far easier than telling Ron and Hermione, who hadn’t cottoned on until Harry had practically spelled it out. She doubted her mum (who'd had seven children of her own) would be quite that thick, but one never knew.

  
Harry had offered to accompany Ginny to the Burrow to share the good news with her parents, but Ginny had a strange feeling that she’d be better off telling her mother by herself. She didn’t know why, exactly, but her feelings were rarely wrong; for some reason, she knew she’d be better off telling her mum and letting her mum tell her dad before announcing to the whole family.

  
And in retrospect, if Ginny had taken two moments to observe how suspiciously her mother had acted towards her from the moment she’d stepped through the fireplace, she could have avoided the conversation to begin with.

  
Molly and Ginny had been sitting in the kitchen of the Burrow, two steaming cups of tea between them. Ginny had simply announced that she had something to share, a slow grin spreading across face.

  
But Molly hadn’t looked up at her daughter’s face long enough to even see the grin. That, too, should have been another hint that she knew more than she was letting on.

  
“Let me guess, dear,” Molly said, a smirk tugging at her lips as she took a sip of tea. “I can only assume I’ll be knitting another Weasley sweater for Christmas this year.”

  
Ginny quirked an eyebrow. True, Molly was particularly observant when it came to her children...but was it really possible for a mother to just _know_? Ginny took one look at how her mother’s eyes were crinkling up at the corners, how a smile was conspicuously hidden behind her mug. No, there was definitely something up.

  
“And how, dearest Mum, would you happen to know that?”

  
Still refusing to make eye contact, Molly cleared her throat daintily and stirred her tea. “Those silencing charms don’t hold _forever_ , dear.”

  
Then, two things happened at exactly the same time: Ginny sputtered hot tea across the table, and Molly suddenly burst into raucous peals of laughter.

  
Ginny mechanically wiped up the mess, refusing to meet her mother’s gaze, even as she continued to howl. Ginny was sure her face was the exact color of her hair as she sunk back in her chair, shaking her head. How could she and Harry have forgotten to double-cast the silencing charms?! _Well_ , a little voice in her head taunted, _that wasn’t the_ only _charm you forgot that night._

  
And her mother— her matronly, demure mother— continued to cackle hysterically for several minutes, seemingly only encouraged by the fact that her daughter was turning redder and redder with every passing moment.

  
“I’m sorry, dear!” Molly finally gasped, wiping mirthful tears off of her face. “Your father and I are ever so pleased for you and Harry. But really, you might want to move to the bed next time— I hear they exist for such purposes!”

  
Ginny simply moaned and let her head drop to the table as her mother lapsed into laughter once again.

  
Yes, she thought as she smiled to herself a bit, head still bent, she was very _very_ glad Harry hadn’t been with her on this particular trip.


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, and thanks to everyone who is joining me for Chapter 2! I have a few quick thoughts to share before we get started. 
> 
> 1) Thanks so much to everyone who left reviews! Fanfic writers LOOOOVE to get those, so I deeply appreciate them :) Please feel free to leave a review on this chapter, too! Also, this chapter contains MUCH more inspiration from blvnk-art. Shout-out to anyone who recognizes the (multiple) references!
> 
> 2) This chapter is (probably) more explicit than the last. If that offends you, don't proceed; this is literally a story about making babies, and that doesn't tend to be a G-rated process. 
> 
> 3) I didn't pay particularly close attention to Cursed Child. If there are inconsistencies, I don't think I'll be changing anything. Sorry?
> 
> Thanks, and enjoy!

_Nearly two years later...  
_

Harry materialized at the end of the street, his lean form casting a shadow on the nearby lawn. He’d insisted on setting it up this way on purpose; no one, not even Harry, could apparate within a mile of the Potters’ front yard. Like all of the other protections on their home, Ginny considered this… _excessive_. But Harry still felt like he couldn’t take any chances, not with him being gone so much. Luckily, at least part of that was about to change.

Harry smiled to himself as he began walking towards their home, his rucksack bobbing with every step. He was returning about a week early—earlier than Ginny expected, anyway. He hoped it would be a heartfelt surprise, for him to be home a few days before his son officially turned one. 

But even with his early arrival, the first snow of the season had already fallen over the streets and homes in village of Godric’s Hollow. Christmas lights were merrily draped in loping crescents across rooftops, where warmth from the black roofs beneath had melted patches through the ice. Early attempts at snowmen were surrendered in front yards, their limbs cast in awkward directions and half-melted.

Harry chuckled a bit to himself as he walked by the remains of the snow creatures; this village truly was the perfect fit for their little family. Even before James had come along, he’d yearned to live in a place where children were free to play outside, safe from worry about things that shouldn’t concern them. Safe from worry about things _they’d_ had to worry about, at any rate. He smiled again and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Coming home always reminded him that Godric’s Hollow, with its extensive magical protections and enchantments, was the best place for them.

But for a December evening, the village was quiet. Truthfully, it was a bit _too_ quiet for Harry’s liking, but he’d never share those fleeting thoughts with his wife, who would (very reasonably) tell him he was being quite _un_ reasonable. He glanced around surreptitiously, right hand almost clutching his wand in his pocket before taking a deep breath and shaking his head. _No; it was safe now._ Still, Harry shuddered a bit in spite of himself as he continued striding up the walk.

He often wondered if years of hiding and worrying had permanently thrust his brain into overdrive, forcing him into a state of paranoia whenever the slightest thing looked amiss. Even in a village as safe as this one, Harry still preferred sounds of all types—music, laughter, talking, shouting—over this blanketed, eerie silence. It reminded him of that awful Christmas so many years ago when he and Hermione had gone looking for Horcruxes and wound up finding the snake instead. _That_ house had mercifully been demolished in the years following the war, but this time of year usually gave him a bit of pause.

Harry reckoned it was a blessing that James had been born in December. It gave him something _else_ to focus on, happier memories to make. He breathed deeply, finally allowing himself to relax as he reached the stone house at the end of the path. Harry murmured the additional protective enchantments (the very same ones that Ginny called _ridiculous_ ) to let himself through the gate. 

Yes—it was true that this home had certainly seen no shortage of happy memories in the last 12 months. They’d moved in when Ginny was heavily pregnant, and before they’d even finished completely unpacking, James had come pounding at the door. And though Harry hadn’t seen his son for a month, he was fairly confident the little boy had continued living at this rapid-fire, neck-break pace for the entirety of his life thus far. 

Harry sighed as he reached the bay window in front of the house, its corners all coated in frost. Ginny—his _gorgeous_ , fit wife, the strongest person Harry knew, the mother of his beautiful son—stood in front of the cooker, her red hair thrown into a messy bun as she busied herself over a pot.  

He realized it might’ve looked a bit creepy, him standing out there in the cold and ogling his wife instead of going inside to greet them. But soon after his son had been born, he’d discovered that watching her with James was his favorite thing in the entire world. He loved it even more than watching her on a broomstick, a still-lingering pastime that clung about from his days of attempting to get a covert glimpse of her perfect arse without her noticing.

Of course, he loved seeing her with James for entirely different reasons. Watching her cuddle and feed and play with and care for a baby— _their_ baby, who had his mop of black hair and Ginny’s eyes and Ron’s ears—was the best feeling in the entire world. Hands down. No contest.

And now the woman in question was wearing… _Merlin_. Harry swallowed. She wasn’t nursing James anymore, but she was still wearing a tiny nursing vest over a pair of tight-fitting pyjama bottoms, ones that enhanced her every curve. As a professional athlete, she’d lost most of the baby weight almost immediately. Fortunately for Harry, though, her breasts were still almost as big as they were when she was carrying James. 

He moaned a bit and adjusted himself in his trousers. _Christ_ , he was behaving like a randy teenager, but it had been too long. Far, _far_ too long. He’d been living in a tent for a month with two other Aurors, the three of them splitting surveillance shifts on the side of a mountain in Iceland. Any form of… _personal relief_ …had simply been out of the question; they’d barely had time to use the loo, let alone wank. 

It had been an extremely dangerous mission—far worse than the one with Dolohov, the last case that had separated him from Ginny for this long. After Harry had come back from that mission, things had been… _explosive_ between them, to say the least. Mostly because he’d locked her up, like an enormous tosspot. He shuffled his feet a bit; he still felt guilty, as well he should. True to his word, though, he hadn’t done _that_ again, and here Ginny was, completely safe, making dinner in the kitchen for their precious little boy.  

Ginny looked over her shoulder and shouted something into the other room. Harry chuckled a bit, his heart warming in his chest. Ah yes, and speaking of James, it appeared that the baby was about to make his grand entrance—

But then, Harry’s breath froze in his chest.

His green eyes stared ahead, unblinking, scarcely daring to believe—to actually, _really_ comprehend—what he was seeing before him. His heart hammered so loudly he could hear it thundering through his head.

 _Holy mother of_ God _._  

James was _walking_. Truly, legitimately _walking_. Like an actual child. Not like a baby.

He wasn’t even doing that “cruising” thing. That’s what Ginny said it was called, when he’d used a low surface to hoist himself up and scoot along the edge until he got where he needed to go. He’d just started doing that when Harry had left, and it had nearly driven Ginny mad, trying to pick up anything that could be in his way. 

But no—he didn’t even _need_ the table. Not anymore.

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat, and felt the tears start to prickle the backs of his eyes as he watched his black-haired adventurous son toddle into the kitchen as fast as his chubby little legs would carry him. Which Harry supposed wasn’t _terribly_ fast, objectively speaking; he was a bit unsteady and he wobbled a bit, but he knew how to outstretch his arms enough to balance himself. 

James stumbled slightly as he got further and further into the room, quivering _just there_ , but he immediately righted himself before heading straight for the bottom cabinet by the sink. Harry knew it contained the pots and pans; apparently James knew this, too. He watched in fascination as Ginny playfully rolled her eyes in the baby’s direction. She gracefully flicked her wand at the hob before turning around to face James, an enormous smile plastered across her face.

She bent over to talk to James (which afforded Harry a look at her bum, and earned him another trouser adjustment), and opened up the cabinet herself before handing the baby a particularly large pot. James clapped his hands in glee and grinned, slamming his bottom down on the floor to play. Already, he was utterly distracted. 

Ginny shot him a loving smile and ruffled his hair, but James was too far gone, loving the sounds he could produce by kicking and hitting the metal with his chubby little fists.

That was it—Harry couldn’t take it anymore. Another second away from them was an eternity. He had to get inside, to see his family, to hold them again, to convince himself that good things still existed in the world. He shook his head with resolute determination, even more convinced than ever that the choice he’d made tonight had been the right one.

* * *

Ginny shoved sweaty tendrils away from her face, wincing as she adjusted her vest and stretched her back. Gwenog had been utterly merciless with the drills at practice today, declaring that she wouldn’t have her team “getting fat before the holidays!”

Ginny snorted and glanced over at James, who was now bellowing as loudly as he could into a deep metal pot and laughing at the echo. It was comical to think getting fat had even been an option over the past month. Being a fulltime athlete while essentially functioning as a single parent of a newly-toddling baby hadn’t left her much time for that.

She smiled fondly at James, his brown eyes alight with mischief as he squealed and beat the pot even harder. He got that from both of them, she thought; that sparkle in his eyes, that _look_ that meant he was up to something quite naughty. Being parents to this little one had certainly been a trial by fire, and it had presented challenges that Ginny hadn’t expected, not in her wildest dreams. While she was pregnant, she and Harry had both expected his personality to be more like his father’s, especially after they’d confirmed that he was a boy.

But now that he was out and about (and into every single thing on a daily basis), it had never been clearer that he lived up to his namesake. Yes, James Sirius was fearless—utterly, completely fearless. And frequently _reckless_ , along with it. Now that he was mobile, Ginny spent most of her time with him making sure he wasn’t running headlong into objects or putting dangerous things in his mouth. Naturally, James was a very vocal dissident of her interventions, because running headlong into objects and putting dangerous things in his mouth happened to be two of his favorite hobbies.   

Which made him a bit exhausting, if Ginny were being honest with herself. Lovable? Of course. Delightful? Absolutely. Cuddly? When he wanted to be. But, yes, she could concede that her son was also _exhausting_. Even her mum, who watched James while Ginny was at practice, admitted that her grandson would have given Fred and George a run for their money.  

And yet…Ginny wanted another one.

Yes, she knew it sounded positively _bonkers_. Made her seem entirely certifiable. Almost automatically earned her a bed at Saint Mungo’s.

As such, Ginny had long since accepted that perhaps this desire didn’t come from the most rational place. After all, James wasn’t even a year old, and his bold personality had ensured a radical lifestyle change from the get-go. She’d had to take a leave of absence from the Harpies while she was pregnant, and had only gotten back on the team in the past six months. Harry was also gone fairly often, meaning she had to care for the baby alone quite frequently; various Weasleys lended a hand when they could, but it wasn’t quite the same. 

And maybe Ginny wanted another one because Hermione was about to give birth, and she loved seeing the affectionate side of Ron coming out in full force. Perhaps it was because she’d come from such a large family herself, and the concept of having only _one_ child seemed preposterous. Perhaps it was because of how much she adored watching Harry with James.

Ah, yes. _Harry_. She suspected he had more to do with it than anything else. They hadn’t discussed having more children—they hadn’t had the time, really. They’d fallen pregnant with James quite accidentally, but Harry had been an absolute angel throughout her entire pregnancy, taking care to tend to her every need. He’d also said (on numerous occasions) that he’d always wanted a big family. She just wasn’t sure if _her_ big family was what he meant, even if he’d been an unofficial Weasley long before they’d gotten married. Still, Harry looked so at peace amidst the havoc and mayhem of little ones running amok, almost as if he wouldn’t mind adding to their own Potter brood.

Whatever the reason, though, the yearning for another baby was still there. Ginny was sure when she’d first felt it, that subtle-but-bothersome feeling, that _urge_ , but it had planted itself somewhere deep inside her chest, and it sprouted and multiplied by tenfold whenever she saw Harry with James. There was something indescribable about the father-son bond they shared.

Ginny’s endearing thoughts were soon disrupted, though, as James decided to grab a wooden spoon from the floor and bang on the pot as hard as he could. She laughed gently at her son, shaking her head. 

She didn’t know why she’d expected James to calm down while Harry was away; he had staunchly remained as active as always. Just last month, she and Harry had been enjoying some lazy early morning sex—a rarity with a baby—and they’d been interrupted by the unmistakable sound of coos coming from the kitchen. Confused and lust-addled in the early morning light, they’d stumbled downstairs to discover their son contentedly sitting in a sink full of bubbles, merrily gnawing on a rubber duck.

There’d been little question before that morning that James would, indeed, be attending Hogwarts, but any remaining doubt had been erased in that precise moment. It had also been the day that they’d added even more enchantments all over the house to keep their little explorer where he needed to be—just in case.

This experience was one of the many reasons why Ginny knew she was completely mental for even vaguely considering having another baby.

James suddenly jerked his head up, breaking Ginny from her reverie. He looked eagerly towards the door, banging his spoon even louder against the metal. “Da!” he cried excitedly, waving a chubby fist in the air.

Ginny wearily turned off the cooker with a wave of her wand. She reckoned dinner was close enough to being ready, and James was clearly getting delirious with hunger. “ _No_ , Jemmy. Daddy won’t be home until—“

But her reply froze in her throat as Harry opened the door.

It was one of those moments for them when time seemed to stand still, when breathing hitched in their throats, when they each only seemed capable of staring at the other like the entire world had shrunk around them. They’d only had a handful of these moments before—when they’d first kissed in the Common Room, when Harry had come back to Hogwarts on that fateful day in May, when Ginny had walked down the aisle at their wedding—but they always left Ginny with this niggling feeling that what they had between them transcended everything that she could see. 

She knew that sounded positively _ridiculous_ , so she’d never mentioned that theory, not to anyone. But now, staring at her husband, she felt it again—a magnetic pull, even stronger than before.

And then, their moment was promptly shattered as James shrieked at the top of his lungs and threw himself at Harry’s legs.

“Little man!” Harry boomed, scooping him up and peppering his tiny face with kisses. James squealed in delight as Harry lifted his shirt and blew a raspberry on his plump little tummy before dangling him upside down. But James—never to be outdone—swiped the glasses from Harry’s face in the exact same instant. And being James, he promptly dropped Harry’s glasses on the floor and giggled, shattering the lenses in one fell swoop.

Harry sighed and pressed another kiss to James’ messy head before setting him on the floor again. In response, James screamed and ran out of room as fast as his chubby legs would carry him.

“I guess Daddy’s home early!” Ginny laughed. Harry waved his wand at his glasses and bent to pick them up, inspecting them as he did. 

Harry’s momentary distraction allowed Ginny to get her first good look at him—the first good look at her _husband_ in nearly a month— and she felt her skin glowing as her eyes swept up and down his body. He clearly hadn’t shaved in ages, possibly since he’d left. His black hair had grown longer and longer, almost touching the rucksack balanced on one shoulder. His face was a bit thinner and more drawn than before, forcing his green eyes to pop against his hair. Ginny licked her lips without even intending to, but she couldn’t help it; he looked positively _delicious_.

Harry, oblivious to her gawking, merely snorted and cleaned his lenses with his shirt.

“I was gone nearly an entire _month_ , Gin. Wouldn’t exactly call it early.”

She shook her head, clearing her throat absently. _Stop staring, Ginny_ , she admonished _._ It wouldn’t do to get herself all wound up before they’d even put the baby to bed, even if it _had_ been a bloody month since she’d even had time to think about getting aroused.

She walked over the cabinet to get dinner ready—and to distract herself.

“We didn’t expect you ‘til next week, though,” she called over her shoulder as she grabbed some plates. “Mum and Dad actually offered to take him next Wednesday so I could give you a more proper homecoming.”

Harry chuckled and walked over to her, wrapping a hand around her waist and resting his head in the crook of her neck. He breathed deeply, loving how she still smelled like flowers. He also loved that he now associated that smell with his home.

“But what if I wanted to see my wife _and_ my son?” he murmured from deep in his throat, slipping his hand between her trousers and the gentle swell of her bum.

“Guess you got lucky, then” Ginny replied loftily, feigning an interest in the pattern on the plate she was holding. Using his other hand, Harry tilted her head to the side and began pressing languorous kisses up the side of her neck.

She bit back a moan from deep in her throat. Dammit. If her body was _already_ responding to him this much, she wouldn’t be able to wait for dinner, let alone bed time.

“Damn straight, I got lucky,” he breathed, smelling the base of her neck behind her ear and bringing another hand around to cup her breast.

This time, Ginny allowed that soft moan to escape from her lips. She leaned back, desperate to feel more of him, and immediately encountered something long and hard against her bum.  

She laughed, breaking the tension. “Is that a wand in your pocket, Mr. Potter, or are you happy to see me?” 

He chuckled into her ear before grazing the outer shell of it with his teeth. She let out a sharp hiss at the contact and ground her bum against him. Thoughts of remaining chaste until bedtime were nothing but a memory.

“You’ve been doing this to me since you were fifteen, Gin,” he rumbled in response. “My _wand_ isn’t exactly a mystery anymore.” His tone was light and teasing, but Ginny could detect the sharp undercurrent of want beneath his words.

She snorted, ready to bite back a retort about how his _wand_ hadn’t been ready for her back then, when—

“DAAAA!” James cried, running flailing into the kitchen, clumsily dragging his toy broomstick behind him.

Harry laughed and pulled away from her, reaching down to pick up James again. His broomstick clattered noisily to the floor as Harry balanced him on his arm.

“Thankfully, we didn’t have to deal with _that_ when I was fifteen,” Ginny said pointedly as James squealed and pulled Harry’s hair. 

“Well, I should hope not,” Harry replied, wincing a bit and massaging his scalp. “We didn’t even start with that _particular_ activity until you were seventeen.”

James grinned mischievously at Harry and reached for his glasses, but his dad was quicker this time. Harry ducked out of his son’s grasp _just_ before his hand wrapped around the bridge of his nose. He set the baby on the ground again with a playful swat to his bum, and James toddled away, babbling contentedly and grabbing his broomstick as he went.

“Well, if I’d had it my way, we’d have been shagging _long_ before that.” Ginny told him sharply as she began to scoop food onto the plates.

But Harry just stared at James’ retreating form and sighed, disbelief evident in his voice. “You know, one of these days, we’re going to have to use code words to talk about sex in front of him. He’ll probably start _actually_ talking soon.”

Ginny glanced at her son as she leaned against the cooker. She bit her lip curiously. True, James still had that chubby little baby face and that naughty little baby grin. But from his toddling alone, it was evident that he was growing up. And far too quickly for Ginny’s liking.

“He’s really not a baby anymore,” she agreed wistfully.

James, apparently unsatisfied with the lack of parental attention, chose this moment to fully re-emerge into the kitchen with his toy broomstick between his legs. He started flying around in slow circles, never getting higher than waist level, but (naturally) causing a ruckus nonetheless. Harry laughed and started to mock-chase him, and James squealed in delight, his head thrown back in glee. 

Ginny made a sharp tutting sound and raised her eyebrows in his direction. James _knew_ he wasn’t supposed to be doing that in the kitchen—or in the house at all, for that matter. She was about to note something to this effect, but his bouts of laughter made her pause.

She observed the grin split across her son’s cherubic little face, the way his brown eyes lit up as he circled around his father, the way he dissolved into peals of laughter as Harry pretended to duck and catch him. She sighed, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. She had to admit it: James really hadn’t been this happy since Harry had left. And when it came down to it, could she really punish him for that?

“By the way, when did he start _walking_?” Harry asked softly, hands in his pockets, his words clawing Ginny away from that particularly painful realization. From the look of things, James had gotten bored with the broom and toddled off several minutes ago—she’d just been too distracted to notice. 

Harry’s misty eyes met hers, shooting her that sad, distant look he got when he was realizing something important. And Ginny knew from his tone that he was closer to tears than he’d like to admit. It warmed her heart that below his big bad Auror exterior, he truly loved his son more than almost anyone else—except for her.   

“Properly? Last Tuesday.” Her tone was gentle as she reached for Harry’s hand. He took it and moved to stand beside her, shaking his head.

“Sorry I wasn’t here,” he murmured, interlacing their fingers and staring at her with mournful eyes. Merlin, he looked positively _wrecked_. If Ginny had harbored any lingering resentment over his absence, it quickly evaporated.  

“It was during the day anyway,” she soothed, leaning her head against his shoulder. “You wouldn’t have been home, even if you’d only been at the Ministry.”

“Yeah, but _you_ saw it,” he said glumly, unable to meet her gaze. “I should’ve _been here_ , Gin. I should’ve—“ he trailed off, a lump forming in his throat. _No_. Now was not the time for him to burst into tears like a complete wanker.

“It’s _ok_ , Harry. Ron and Hermione stopped by that night to properly celebrate. We all understood that you were _working_ , love. There’s nothing for it, yeah?”

Harry pulled back and looked at her curiously, his mouth parted just slightly. “Actually, Ginny, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. I—“ 

But he was swiftly interrupted by a loud crash followed by a frightened wail.

“James!” Ginny sighed exasperatedly, striding into the living room. She knew from his cry that he wasn’t seriously hurt—just annoyed and scared of the loud noise. Which made sense, since he’d somehow managed to flip the sofa over. She clucked her tongue softly and took the baby into her arms.

“And _this_ is why we won’t play with the broomstick in the house,” she said ruefully, ruffling James’ hair. The toddler just shoved his fingers in his mouth and grinned, even as tear tracks stained his cheeks.

Harry walked into the room smiled. Ginny pressed a kiss to James’ temple and he nuzzled into her chest, sighing that contended little baby sigh. _God_ , he’d missed them. So much more than he’d even realized.  

“Right,” Harry said brusquely, that telltale lump forming in his throat again. “Let’s get this one fed, yeah? Then we can have some alone time of our own.”

Ginny smirked. “Fine. But you’re putting him to bed. I want to see if he causes as much mayhem with you as he does with me.”

* * *

 “Well, he’s finally down,” Harry sighed several hours later, exhaustion evident in his voice as he shut their bedroom door.  

“And how many times did you have to read _Babbity Rabbity_ , exactly?” Ginny asked, never looking up from her newspaper.

Harry moaned and sank down on the mattress. Merlin, it felt good to be on an actual _bed_. 

He turned over on his side to brush Ginny’s hair from her eyes. It was shorter now, cut to the side after James had been born. She’d soon discovered that long hair wasn’t practical for nursing an especially grabby baby. And Harry had learned that he still loved her hair, no matter the length. Unable to stop himself, he gazed hungrily down the rest of her body, starting with the gentle curve of her neck to her full breasts to the soft swell of her hips.

Fucking hell, he was rock hard already and he’d barely touched her. Pathetic, really. But he’d been gone a bloody _month_.

“ _Wench_ ,” he murmured affectionately, moving to grind himself against her side. Ginny sucked in a breath and laid her paper down on the bedside table. “We both know he doesn’t _like_ _Babbity Rabbity_. But to answer your question, I read _The Warlock’s Hairy Heart_ three times.” 

Ginny sniggered and turned to face him, brushing the hair from his eyes. “ _Amateur_ ,” she said mildly, tracing her fingers over his lips, “he probably smelled your weakness a mile away.”

“And how many times does it take _you_ , then, Mrs. Potter?” he asked against her lips, eyes boring into hers as he dug his erection further into her thigh.

Ginny cocked her head. “Last I checked, it shouldn’t about how _many_ times one has to do something—it should be about how satisfying each time really is.”

“Well said,” he muttered gruffly, eyes already glazed over. He dove in to nibble her ear, eliciting a throaty groan.  

“Mmm, I missed you,” Ginny breathed, turning on her side to fully face him, her pupils dilated and chest flushed.

Fuck, this was all too much—he was exhausted, overwhelmed, and randy as hell. And he knew a solid shag from his wife would be the only cure for all three ailments. Then Ginny’s little pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips, and it was all over.

Unable to take any more, Harry finally dove in for a searing kiss, growling as Ginny’s tongue eagerly entered his mouth. They finally broke for air a few moments later, panting heavily and thrusting themselves against each other. It was quite nostalgic, really—more than a little reminiscent of their Hogwarts days.

“Merlin, I missed you _so_ much,” he said, wrapping his palms around to cup her bum, still rocking against her. “Haven’t even had a _wank_ since I left. It’s been bloody awful.”

“Same,” Ginny noted, grazing her nails over his nipples before she leaned over to playfully bite his ear. He hissed and arched his back in response. She sighed in bliss—she didn’t think she’d _ever_ tire of having this effect on him—and wasted no time in removing his shirt completely, pushing it up his torso and over his head. Harry raised his arms to help her, happy to see that she wanted this as badly as he did.

Fucking _hell_ , it had been too long.

Ginny shifted so that she was straddling him, shooting him a sultry wink before she began to lower his jeans. She allowed her hands to linger on the growing bulge beneath, delighting as it twitched under her touch. 

“Remember when you actually used to get _embarrassed_ about that?” she leaned forward to brush her breasts against his bare chest. Harry’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Oh, I remember that _quite_ well,” he managed in a gravelly voice. “My entire sixth year was a blur of erections and wet dreams, if you recall.” 

Ginny threw her head back, grinding against him with even greater abandon. He tilted her chin, beginning to suckle the base of her throat just the way she liked.

Then her motions stilled, and she flashed a grin, unable to help herself; she’d found the tip of his cock through his boxers. So naturally, she ground her crotch against that spot even more insistently. His moan rumbled through her, his mouth still occupied on her neck. He was nibbling hard enough that she knew she’d have a mark tomorrow on her sensitive pale skin. _And yet_ , Ginny thought to herself, rolling her hips again, _I can’t be arsed to care_.

“Mmmm. Don’t know _how_ I was meant to know about the wet dreams bit,” she breathed, picking up the threads of their conversation. “But yes, Harry. I recall your erections. Quite _wellll_ …” Her voice trailed off into a moan as Harry brought his other hand around to massage the base of her skull, tugging on her hair ever-so lightly.

Dammit. He _knew_ she’d never be able to control herself when he did that. Smug bastard.

“Well I should hope so,” he snorted, finally lifting his head and peering up at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You and your lovely bits had me hard 24/7, more or less.” He dropped his hands and pulled her down against him, emphasizing his point.

Ginny stifled a whine at the loss of contact on her neck but took a deep breath to regain control. She met Harry’s gaze and shot him what she hoped was a casual shrug. It was almost unfair how he managed to make her so absurdly, deliriously aroused with such little effort.

Luckily, Ginny had been intimate with Harry for several years, and had studied him for long before that. Arousal was a two-way street, after all. And to be perfectly blunt, it was fairly easy to one-up such an inveterate tit man. So—without missing a beat, without breaking eye contact—Ginny scooped her breasts out of her top and met him with a plain stare.

Harry made a low growl in the back of his throat and froze, staring open-mouthed at her exposed chest. 

“Merlin,” he said hoarsely, reaching his hands up to caress her nipples. “Can’t _believe_ I’ve gone this long without seeing them.” 

Ginny giggled, forcing her breasts to jiggle slightly from her position above him; Harry just groaned deeply and thrust his hips against her again.

Harry prided himself on being quite the expert on Ginny’s breasts. He knew their shape, what texture they’d be at various times of the month, and exactly how much pressure it took to make her nipples pop. Of course, he’d spent ample time getting to know her breasts before she’d fallen pregnant; she’d been a willing participant in his explorations, even while they were in school. So naturally Harry knew that they’d been _full_ before— and not to mention delightfully round and creamy and freckled. But after she’d given birth? There really _was_ no comparison; they simply exceeded Harry’s wildest expectations.

“They’ve even lovelier than the first day you let me see them.” He sighed happily, bringing a hand up to massage the underside of her right breast.  She shifted a bit on top of him, bringing even more friction against his now-painful erection. Harry swallowed a groan and continued to stare as they swayed slightly.

“Yes, well, you can be sure to thank James for that one,” she said dryly. “They never _have_ gone back down in size.”

Harry leaned up to press his face in her cleavage, inhaling deeply, and began to rock himself against her again. “And you don’t see me complaining.”

Ginny pushed herself up, balancing on her palms so that her clothed clit was now in direct contact with the head of his cock. She grinned a bit to herself as she realized that Harry was still staring open-mouthed at the gentle motion of her chest. She took an irrational amount of pride in the fact that she could still distract him so easily, even after all these years. 

But after a few moments, Harry’s eyes started to roll back in his head with every pass of her hips. “ _Fuck_ , you’re killing me,” he growled, throwing his head against the pillows as she continued her ministrations. Suddenly, he reached out his hands to still the movement, panting deeply. She cocked her head, eyeing him quizzically.

They never stopped this soon unless… _oh_.

Yeah, ok, that made more sense. 

“I haven’t gotten to do this in a month,” he gritted, confirming Ginny’s suspicions, “and I’d rather not shoot off in my pants like I’m 16 again.”  

She released a tiny snort but took pity on him, rising to shimmy her knickers down her hips, finally removing her vest as she went. She returned to bed and gave Harry a few moments to collect himself, playing idly with his chest as she waited for his heart rate to slow. 

“That’s a pity, Potter,” she drawled some time later, returning to her former position on top. “Because I quite _liked_ making you shoot off in your pants.” 

Harry’s throaty chuckle was cut off when her hand gripped the length of his cock, teasing the head of it around her drenched opening.

Instead of reacting with his usual matched enthusiasm, though, Harry immediately backed away, pushing against her like he suddenly needed the distance to _live_. He hissed sharply, releasing a rather pitiful whimper as he held her at arm’s length. 

“ _Wait._ ” he grunted, eyes slammed shut, breathing hard. Fucking _hell_ , how was he already this close again? He’d just been joking about being 16 again, but this was rapidly becoming a repeat of their first time—when, by his mortified estimations, he’d blown his load in about 90 seconds, practically upon penetration.

After some time, he felt himself cool down slightly, the throbbing in his cock subsiding a bit, and finally cracked open his eyes; he’d expected to see Ginny waiting patiently (yet again) for him to get himself under control. But instead the sight that greeted him nearly made him explode.

She was splayed out on her stomach in front of him, her face inches from his leaking cock, a coy smile on her lips.

“Like what you see?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. Without giving him time to respond, she grabbed him in her hand and lapped up the clear bead of pre-cum from the end of his member.

“ _Gin_ ,” he groaned as her tongue circled around his cock. His hands reached down for her hair, eyes rolling back in his head as her mouth sank onto him completely. “ _Yessss_ ,” he hissed, thrusting his hips into her mouth involuntarily. She swirled her tongue around his tip, gently grazing her teeth up the sides. 

“Fucking _hell_ ,” Harry swore, slamming his eyes shut and gripping her hair even tighter. She shifted to her knees, wrapping a fist around the base of his shaft while she sucked him. 

Giving him an orgasm _always_ turned Ginny on. She loved the way that Harry— one of the most powerful men in the world— would throw his head back, thrashing about, completely dominated by pleasure. And the knowledge that _she_ was the one providing that pleasure was something that frequently fueled her masturbation fantasies. 

Well, when she had time for masturbation fantasies, at any rate. 

But Ginny had needs herself, and knew she’d rather get the show on the road if she intended Harry to stay awake for round two. So she deliberately peered up at him, brown eyes glossy with her own desire, and began to hum from deep in her throat, knowing Harry wouldn’t be able to hold out for long, not with her entire mouth vibrating around him, not when he’d been gone a month... 

“You’re so… _beautiful,_ ” he choked, eyes still slammed shut as he caressed her cheeks. Ginny would’ve laughed if her mouth weren’t otherwise occupied; Harry was known for declaring his undying love and attraction to her at the _exact moment_ she was engaged in the dirtiest possible activity. She found in endearing, really, if not a little hilarious.

But then he looked down at her and they properly made eye contact, and his eyes were dark green and clouded over and so full of _love_. He was staring at her with so much adoration and devotion that suddenly there was nothing funny about the situation, not at all. It had never been more apparent that he trusted her—wholly, completely trusted her, more than anyone else alive, and he was moaning from deep in his throat every time she took his head a little deeper. His eyes were boring firmly into hers as she continued to hum around his cock, and he was grunting so much that she knew it wouldn’t be long before… 

“ _Fucccck_ , Gin, ‘bout to come,” Harry bellowed, eyes rolling back as they slid shut. In response, she hummed around him and began bobbing on his cock at a faster pace, her tongue sloppily swirling every part of him she could touch. She reached a hand to caress his balls one final time—he _definitely_ wouldn’t be able to hold on after that— and Harry let out an animalistic half-grunt, half-shout, holding her head in place as his seed spurted down her throat.

She waited until he finished pulsing and gingerly pulled her mouth away, crawling up to kiss him on the cheek. He smiled, eyes still shut, and sank bonelessly into her touch as she spooned herself against him. 

“Sorry,” he murmured a few moments later, his eyes fluttering open. “Been a _month_ , you know.”

She smiled as his hand began to draw swirls across her toned stomach. “Honestly, Harry, I’m surprised you lasted _that_ long. And I did it on purpose. Wanted you to last longer the second time.” 

He barked out a laugh, nose buried in her hair. “And it may shock you to learn this, Mrs. Potter, but I’m already quite _up_ for the next challenge.” He ground his hips against her bum, proving his point.

Ginny turned around, pushing against his chest as she flattened him to the bed. She moved to straddle him once more and felt the heavy weight of his arousal against her inner thigh. He hadn’t been lying; in spite of his earlier orgasm, his cock was already eager to continue.  He grinned up at her unabashedly, placing his hands on her arse.   

“Been too long,” she murmured, bending over to kiss him. She began to rock her hips in time with her thrusts of her tongue, building herself up to the proper orgasm she’d been denied for so long.

He pulled back to stare up at her and gripped her bum even harder, his breathing ragged. His thighs were still shaking a bit from the force of his previous orgasm, but that didn’t stop his long fingers from gripping her arse.

“Love you,” he breathed, tilting her hips so that her wet center slid up and down his shaft—never actually penetrating, mind, but still coating him with her wetness.

“Love you so much,” she sighed back, rubbing her clit more insistently against him. Fucking _hell_ , this felt too bloody good. She began shuddering as she rubbed the underside of his cock against her. She was lost in the sensation, head thrown back in ecstasy, but not so lost that she couldn’t feel that telltale red blush beginning to creep across her chest. It wouldn’t be long until… 

“ _Stop_!” she panted abruptly, sitting back on her heels, breath coming in sharp gasps. Harry shot her a smug smile, fully aware she was mimicking what he’d done before she’d taken him into her mouth.

Ginny took a few more deep breaths. She wanted to come with him inside her, dammit! Was that really too much to ask, after her husband had been gone a _month_? 

“Alright there, Gin?” Harry finally asked, a coy expression on his face, even though his cock was still hard as ever and now coated in her juices. The thought was intoxicating, but he could hold out considerably longer since he’d already shot off once.

But Ginny just rolled her eyes and bent to kiss him. “I’m fine. But since I’d like to continue with the real thing, we need the _charm_ , prat. Let me get my—“

But as she leaned over to get her wand from the bedside table, Harry placed a hand on her arm, stilling her. She glanced over at him in randy bewilderment, confusion evident on her face—why the _hell_ wouldn’t Harry want get on with this as badly as she did?—but he was fixing her with a gaze that looked somewhat…hopeful? 

Harry cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair; she didn’t know why, but he was nervous. “Gin, what if we…” he trailed off, shaking his head. He stared at his hands for a bit but then finally tilted his chin up to face her, his eyes now clear and serious. He swallowed and began again.

“What if we… _didn’t_?”

Ginny froze in his lap, blinking at him. The base of his hard penis was still lying flush against her center.

This had to be a _joke_ , right? An ill-timed welcome-home joke that would only interfere with a shag for along as it took to deliver the punchline. What were the chances that Harry not only understood that she wanted more kids, but also shared the same (possibly misguided, likely insane) desire himself? If she were being honest, she’d rather expected _Harry_ to talk her out of her ludicrous fantasy of having another one so soon. Under normal circumstances, Ginny would’ve had a hearty laugh about it before moving on with her day.

After all, the mere _notion_ of what he was insinuating was…ridiculous. _Right_?

But she cocked her head to the side. For the first time, she noticed that Harry hadn’t stopped giving her that guileless stare filled with wonderment and awe as his hands softly caressed her hips with his fingertips. _He seriously wasn’t suggesting…?_

She finally cleared her throat, shaking her head. She must’ve misunderstood; there was simply no other explanation. 

“Harry,” she began patiently, blinking a few more times. “As lovely as that thought is, the last time you came back from a mission and we _forgot_ ”—her eyebrows raised significantly—“we wound up with that little toddling terror in the other room. So unless you’re very much prepared to help with _two_ of them—“

“And what if I am? Home more, I mean,” he asked very quickly, shifting a bit so she wasn’t directly on top of his arousal. It had always been quite difficult for him to think rationally when she was that close to his penis.

She stared blankly back at him, brow still furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Harry sighed and raked a hand through his hair again.

“Okay,” he started, taking a deep breath; she could tell he was preparing for a long speech. “This isn’t _exactly_ the way I’d planned on bringing this up. But I’ve just told Robards that I’m done with these long missions. It’s too much. I miss you and James every second I’m gone, and I’m starting to feel like dealing with Voldemort was a waste of time of I don’t get to see my family anyway—“

But Ginny was sitting frozen, stock-still, eyes wild, breathing as deeply as if she’d just finished practice drills. 

“ _Wait_ ," she blurted, placing a finger on his lips. She swallowed, pushing her hair behind her ears. “Say that _again_ , Harry. Because there’s no bloody _way_ I heard you correctly.”

Harry shifted his weight and cleared his throat. “I _said_ ,” he began again, “that I miss my wife and my son while I’m out, and that I’m starting to feel like—“ 

“No, no, not that bit,” Ginny said impatiently, flapping her hand. “The part about you not going on long…” she trailed off, staring at him, chest heaving.

Harry was quite sure they both knew what he’d said the first time. It would’ve been hard to mistake his words, and Ginny was _smart_ —far smarter than he was, if he were being honest with himself. But now she was staring at him like he’d grown three heads, like she couldn’t possibly believe the words that had come from his mouth. 

Well, she was certainly reacting with more _enthusiasm_ than he’d expected. But why…? 

He leaned away from her a bit. If he wanted to get to the bottom of Ginny’s feelings— _and fast_ —he’d have to view this situation more objectively, to use the tools of study he’d learned on the job. She hated it when he did that, but she didn’t seem to be in much of a position to respond. 

He smiled up at her, moving his hand to caress her chin. He’d always thought she was beautiful, all creamy skin and freckles and bright red hair. But he allowed his eyes to drift up and down her body now that his senses weren’t quite so blurred with lust. She’d lost all the baby weight from James quite quickly and she had some additional definition in her arms, probably due to lugging said baby around all day.  

But she also looked, and there was no other way to describe it, _exhausted_. Her hair was a bit stringy, falling limply around her face. She’d always been on the fair side (“comes with the territory of being a ginger!”) but she’d somehow lost that glow, that ephemeral shimmer behind her skin that he’d always loved so much. There were dark circles under her eyes, so deep they made her look almost ashen. 

And then Ginny’s fingers snapped in front of his face, pulling him back into the present. “Harry!” she demanded, chest heaving. “What the _hell_ are you on about? You can’t just bring something like that up and then go _off_ somewhere.”

“Sorry!” he responded suddenly, moving his hands to grip her hips again. “It was rude of me to just trail off like that, I—“

“Never mind about that part, I don’t care!” she said quickly, taking a deep breath. She turned to stare at him, eyes wide and soft. “Did you really mean it?” 

It seemed his little contemplation had given her time to process, too. He met her with a stoic stare and swallowed, nodding curtly. Ginny’s breath hitched in her throat.

Neither of them spoke for several long moments.

“Ok. Just so we’re clear,” she started again, voice a little shaky, hands trembling, “and I haven’t made this up in some sleep-deprived nightmare.”

Harry winced a bit in sympathy, but Ginny continued, undeterred. “You’re telling me,” she said with an air of deliberate slowness, “that you’re not _going_ on long missions anymore. That you’re not going to be away from me and the baby—” 

“Well, not _often_ , anyway,” Harry interjected. “But no, it won’t be the usual gone-for-a-month, back-for-two bullocks you’ve had to deal with for so long. Robards said if they really needed me they might have to pull me back to the field occasionally, maybe once a year. Maybe not.” He shrugged. “Just depen—“ 

But Ginny lunged for his lips, cutting him off mid-sentence. The kiss was forceful and passionate—nothing like the gentle embraces she’d greeted him with earlier. Their teeth clacked and tongues danced together, and she moaned into his mouth so deeply that he felt himself start to pulse against her sopping center, even over the roaring in his ears. 

He pulled away a little and placed his forehead on hers. They were both breathing heavily, and Ginny was now thrusting herself against him with absolutely no finesse, as if determined to reach a goal only she could see.

“Not that I’m _complaining_ ,” Harry finally panted after several passes of her hips, “but what brought all this on?” 

Ginny just grinned down at him, breasts bouncing. “I’m happy you’ll be around more, that’s all!”

He held her hips in place as she threw her head back, seeming to finally completely surrender herself to the sensations of his cock rubbing against her sensitive flesh. 

“ _Gin_ ,” he managed after a few more rolls of her hips, “if you wanted me around more, all you had to do was ask!”

Ginny shrugged, even as she continued to thrust. “But you love your job. I didn’t want to ask.”

“Yes, but I love you _more_ ,” he clarified, staring at her through lidded eyes as his hands cupped the underside of her bum, “and I’d never do anything if it didn’t make you happy.” 

She smiled back, her gaze filled with a surprising amount of tenderness given her current activity.

“I know,” she sighed softly, finally ceasing the movement of her hips. “That’s why I didn’t ask.” She bent over and kissed him delicately, eyelashes brushing against his cheek. He smiled against her and sighed in relief, offering her a kiss in return. 

And with that simple kiss, Harry felt as if a huge load had been lifted from his shoulders; he felt weightless and free, almost lighter than he’d felt since James had been born. He loved his son—he was truly, ludicrously besotted with the tiny human they’d made. But with that great amount of love came the ever-present fear that he’d miss things, that James’ life would pass before his eyes while he was spending his days working. Discovering that James was already _walking_ had only solidified things. Merlin, how many more missed major left events would it have taken for Harry to cotton on that family was the most important thing?

But now, as he looked up at his strong, beautiful wife—whose cheeks were flushed with arousal as a thin sheen of sweat broke out on her chest—it had never been more obvious that they were on the same page, completely in sync with each other; they’d _both_ hated it when he’d been gone, but they’d both been too bloody stubborn to say a damn thing about it. 

Something else occurred to him, too, though, a nagging thought in the back of his mind. It wasn’t simply enough that they were happy he’d both be home, but they were taking quite a significant chance if he didn’t—

“And you want another one?” Ginny stated, as if reading his thoughts.

He shifted his weight a little, even as Ginny continued grinding, and looked at her in hopeful anticipation. In truth, Harry loved having kids. More specifically, he loved the thought of having kids with _Ginny_. With the exception of Ginny getting ill in the very beginning, he'd loved every second of her pregnancy with James. He'd loved watching their child grow inside her, watching her breasts get larger and larger with every passing month, watching her prepare to give him the greatest gift he could ever hope to receive, watching as she finally performed an act that was nothing short of _miraculous_ , in his humble opinion. 

He’d never admitted as much out loud, but yeah, he wanted loads of them. Well, maybe not _Weasley_ loads, but definitely more than one. Or two. Depended how it went, really. 

But Harry also knew that his contribution to childbearing process was frankly quite easy. As such, he’d felt like too much of a tosser to even bring it up since James had been born, especially since he’d been gone all the damn time since then. There wouldn’t have been much fairness in knocking her up and leaving her with two of them. But since he’d be around more, and she didn’t seem to mind much…

“Of course I want another one,” he said easily, smiling. But then his smile quickly faded when he saw her perplexed expression, her pursed lips, her narrowed eyes—fucking _hell_ , that had come out all wrong! This was the exact type of response he’d been afraid he’d give all along.

“I mean, only if _you_ do,” he added hurriedly, the concern evident on his face, “I don’t want to pressure you into anything. Merlin knows it’s more work for you. But since James is a bit older now and I’ll be around more I just thought it might be worth looking into. Besides, we don’t even know if it’ll _take_ on the first go, James was kind of a fluke, and—“ 

But Ginny just laughed and interrupted him with a kiss. “It’s fine, Harry,” she assured him, smiling. She bit her lip and looked down. “I want another one too. I just didn’t know how _you_ felt.”

“What—b-but are you totally sure?” Harry stuttered, sitting up a bit straighter. “Because I don’t want this to be the result of anything I said. I want you to want this as much as I do.” 

Even as he said it, Harry guarded his heart a bit. He had to be sure he didn’t let his excitement get the best of him; he might’ve completely misunderstood her, and they had to be 100% on the same page with this one.

“I’m sure,” she confirmed automatically, meeting him with a dead stare; there wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in her voice. “I’ve always wanted more than one. And if you’re actually going to be home more, it might not a bad time to _try_...” She trailed off as she began walking her fingers up his chest.   

Harry’s heart soared and he laughed, stroking his hand up and down her back. The whole concept of “trying” was rather foreign to him; it wasn’t like they’d even _needed_ to do that the last time.

“Besides,” she continued, pushing Harry flat against the bed, “I’d like the sprogs to go to Hogwarts fairly close together so we have as much _alone time_ as possible.”  She ground herself against him on the last bit, leaving little doubt about exactly what she had in mind. 

“Yes, _please_ , more alone time,” he echoed, thrusting himself against her once more.

But then Ginny sat back and finally positioned his penis at her opening. “Right. So I’d like for us to get on with the process of _having_ that alone time. If that’s alright with _you_ , Potter.”   

“More than alright,” he murmured softly, caressing her cheek. “Been too long.” 

“ _Far_ too long.” She leaned in to kiss him again. He responded eagerly, wrapping his arms around her as she slid down onto his length. They groaned together as Ginny began to lift herself up and down, her wet quim coating his shaft more and more with every pass.

“God, I love you,” he murmured, peering into her eyes. 

“Love you _so_ much,” she breathed, head tilted back, beginning to swirl her hips in the familiar pattern that would bring them both to the edge. Harry placed his hands on the underside of her bum again, providing extra support as she lifted and swirled, lifted and swirled…

“Look at me,” he rasped several moments later 

She pushed the hair out of her face and peered down at him. His muscular chest was damp with sweat, his dark hair matted to his forehead, his lips slightly chapped and pursed in an expression she knew so well to be one of ecstasy.

But as soon as her eyes ceased their slow sweep up his body, past the place where they were so intimately joined, past the scars on his chest that defined how much he was willing to sacrifice, her eyes finally traveled up his face and latched onto his. And just like _that_ , it was one of those moments again— one where they couldn’t look away, where they were the only ones who existed in the world, where they were encased in a tunnel of light that receded a bit at the edges, where everything was blurry except for each other. A primal place where nothing else mattered except green eyes meeting brown.

They moaned softly in unison and continued staring, never breaking eye contact, even as Ginny felt the first flutterings of her muscles beginning to tighten and squeeze around him as she rocked herself closer and closer to the edge. They both knew she wouldn’t last long. 

“Come for me,” Harry whispered huskily, never breaking eyes contact. He began to meet her thrusts with his own, using the base of his cock to apply pressure to exactly the right spot on her clit.  His hands were still splayed over the swell of her bum, holding her tightly as she rose and fell. 

“I can tell you’re _close_ , Gin,” he breathed again, his voice rumbling through her as his eyes continued piercing hers. “ _So_ close. Come for me. Come for me _now_ , love.” 

And with that, Ginny finally broke away from their penetrating gaze as she threw her head back, crying out as she gave in to the pulsating waves of pleasure that coursed through her body. She continued thrusting herself up and down as she contracted around him, the waves of her orgasm only getting more and more intense until— 

“ _FUCK_ , I love you! _”_  Harry roared, his back arched off the bed, face screwed up as he gripped her firmly to his cock with both hands. An instant later, she heard him grunt a final time, his cock twitching as he emptied himself deep into her womb.

Ginny felt herself slumping against his chest, a contented smile on her lips as Harry’s cock continued to jerk with aftershocks.

“That was…” she began some time later after their breathing had returned to normal, their bodies still joined. Her eyes were beginning to droop of their own accord.

“ _Incredible_.” Harry finished reverently, pressing a shaking kiss to her temple.

Ginny grinned sleepily. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” he replied, holding her close against his chest before finally allowing the exhaustion to take over as he faded to sleep.

* * *

 It was only January, but 2006 was already proving itself to be a bitterly cold year. Harry and Ginny sat at their kitchen table, wrapped in dressing gowns and sipping hot tea. Harry had already cast numerous warming charms over the house, but the kitchen was still the coziest place. He took a peek at his wife, who was shivering slightly, and wrapped his arm around her. She nuzzled her face into his chest and sighed, finally at peace; both of her boys were home.

James, utterly oblivious to the cold, sat on the floor near their feet and babbled happily as he stirred a number of unusual food items together in a large metal bowl.

They’d decided to let him “cook” this morning—which really only meant combining random ingredients like cereal, milk, flour, sugar and jam in a bowl and mixing them up with a spoon. But Harry and Ginny had soon learned that it was far easier to find constant activities for their son than to worry about dressing him for the outdoors five times a day. Especially when snow made it nearly impossible to even open the front door. And especially when one’s toddler loved to do things like dive head-first into snow piles and laugh until his parents found him. 

James scooped up some of his concoction, which was turning a particularly unappetizing shade of pink, and cried out in apparent delight when it slopped back down into the bowl with a nasty _thud_.

“All done?” Harry asked playfully, bending to ruffle James’ hair. He grinned toothily back at Harry and lifted the spoon to Harry’s mouth—an invitation for a taste-test. 

Harry chuckled. “Oh no, none for _me_ , Jemmy—Daddy overdid it a bit this Christmas. My jeans still aren’t fitting properly.” He took a sip of tea. “But maybe Mummy would like some?“ He chanced a sidelong glance in Ginny’s direction. She’d been remarkably quiet this morning.

But instead of playing along, Ginny was sitting with a hand pressed firmly over her mouth, her face an unpleasant shade of pale-green. “ _No,_ ” she said firmly, shaking her head.

“You alright, Gin?” Harry asked concernedly, putting his mug down and reaching a hand up to stroke her back. “I can vanish the mess if it’s bothering you—or add another warming charm.” 

“No, no, it’s not that,” she said, waving her hand dismissively.

James toddled over to her, the look of concern on his face mimicking Harry’s, and held up the dripping spoon. “Ma?” he asked plaintively, brown eyes curious and seeking. 

Well, _bullocks_. She’d never been to resist that look when _Harry_ gave it to her, much less when the exact same expression was mirrored on her toddler.  

And so Ginny took a deep breath, steeling herself, and reached over to James’ spoon, pretending to take a bite. She tried her hardest not to think about how it was even more disgusting up close—all chunks and oozing food bits and globs mashed together. 

No one ever said motherhood was glamorous, eh? 

“Mmm, Jemmy, that’s delicious!” she cooed gently, biting back the bile in her throat as she shoved the offending spoon away from herself as quickly as possible. “You’ll make a right little chef, won’t you?”

James, seemingly happy with her response, toddled away proudly, taking his spoon with him as he went.

Harry turned to face Ginny, his lighthearted concern now evolving into genuine worry.

“You sure you’re ok, love?” he asked gently, pushing her hair away from her face. “You’ve normally got a stomach of steel. You didn't earn the title Ginevra 'Firewhiskey' Potter for nothing." 

But Ginny’s eyes were wide and unfocused, her face still pale. Harry furrowed his brow and sat back; he’d learned long ago that it’d be best to give her space, especially if she felt as vulnerable as she looked. So Harry waited, chin in his hands, studying his wife's face until she felt fit to respond. 

“It’s only especially disgusting because I’m pregnant again,” she mused aloud some moments later. Her response was so introspective that it almost seemed as if she hadn’t heard Harry’s question, completely lost in the recesses of her own mind. She was also staring rather thoughtfully at the wall, seemingly working things out for herself as she did so. 

“I haven’t _actually_ been sick yet, thank Merlin,” Ginny continued in that same thoughtful tone, “probably only a matter of time, although I didn’t start feeling ill with James until I was a bit further gone.”

She finally peered up at Harry, a hopeful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Of course I’d been _meaning_ to tell you all week, I just couldn’t find the right opportunity, and now seemed as good a time as any to blurt it out there—” 

But Harry came to his senses before she could finish her thought. He interrupted her swiftly with a bone-crushing hug, laughing a bit as he held her tightly against his chest. He knew he must’ve looked like a complete lunatic; he had a grin plastered from ear to ear, and as he kissed the top of her head, he did nothing to stop the tears from flowing freely down his cheeks. Ginny just nuzzled against his chest and closed her eyes, a contented smile on her lips. 

 _Fucking hell_ , he thought, positively beaming as he breathed deeply against her bright red hair. _We’ve done it again. And on_ purpose _, this time._

Harry finally pulled away several moments later, removing his glasses to wipe his eyes. “I just can’t believe it,” he grinned, shaking a bit. "What are the chances it'd _take_ so fast? Got to be astronomical, yeah?"

A watery laugh escaped her lips. “Well, _believe it_ , Potter, because I spent a small fortune in tests, and there is absolutely no doubt. I know it’s a wonder it happened so quickly, but—”

A loud crash followed by a startled wail from the other room interrupted her, mid-sentence. 

“ _James,_ ” they groaned in unison, turning towards the direction of the noise. Before they could do much else, though, they heard him emit an excited giggle. Whatever he’d gotten into was clearly more entertaining than dangerous—at least to him.

As as they breathed a joint sigh of relief, Harry and Ginny turned to face each other. They were grinning as they stared, both wearing matching expressions of delirious joy, both still a bit tearful. 

_Yeah. They were ready to do this again._


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, and welcome to the final installment! Thanks so much to everyone who stuck by the story...I know it’s been an age! I do apologize for the delay, but guess what? I had my first baby in between chapters 2 and 3. Sometimes, real-life stuff gets in the way! You may notice that this chapter is set on Valentine’s Day, as it had been my original intention to publish by then. Better late than never, right? ;)
> 
> Again, credit to blvnk-art who inspired this chapter, and who got me back into fanfiction, in general! Please read and review, and go ahead and give me a follow if you like what you’re reading! I hope to start a non-fluffy AU Harry/Ginny series, so stay tuned for more!  
> THANKS!

Ginny Potter was not unaccustomed to living in a boisterous, male-dominated household; she’d been raised with six brothers, after all. She was used to playing in the dirt, taking snowballs to the face, living in messy clothes, and stealing time for quidditch away from prying eyes.

What Ginny _was_ unaccustomed to, however, was being the person responsible for wrangling said boys into some semblance of polite behavior.

And yet, that was how she found herself at the tender age of 26: Ginny Potter, semi-retired professional athlete. Contributing sports writer for _The Daily Prophet_. Founding member of Dumbledore’s Army. Toddler wrangler.

“Don’t you _dare_ take off that sock again!” she said sharply, peering around her shoulder at James, who had already removed one of his trainers and was reaching for his foot. His brown eyes twinkled as he shot her a mischievous grin, but his hand paused in midair. He must’ve thought better of carrying through with his original plan. In addition to being a prankster, James had recently taken to becoming a nudist.

“Good choice, James,” she praised, a hint of sternness still lingering in her voice. “Please come over here when you’re through putting _on_ your trainers.”

Ginny bit her lip and turned her head back around. Merlin knew she had bigger things to worry about. Like her 17-month-old, who was currently face-down in their front hallway, his arms stubbornly stuck to the sides of his face.  

“Albus,” she soothed, tone instantly softening as she addressed her youngest. “You’ve got to get _up_ , love. We’re going to be late.”  

“ _No,_ ” Albus replied sullenly, shaking his head. Ginny sighed and leaned back against the wall. Because, of course, the situation was far more ridiculous than it might appear at first glance.

Albus had not merely _chosen_ to stay at their home in a fit of toddler rage; he had inadvertently cast a sticking jinx on his entire body. In Ginny’s opinion – and she and Harry tended to disagree about this – he literally _couldn’t_ move from the floor. Not that he wanted to. Ginny massaged her temples and glanced over at James, who was obediently putting his second trainer _on_. For once.

She cocked her head and observed her two children as they sat on the floor, each lost in his own attempt to delay their departure. If there was a single circumstance that could have exemplified the differences between her sons, this was it.

Soon after Albus’ birth, the Potter parents had realized that saying Albus and James had “different personalities” would be a bit like referring to a monsoon as a light drizzle. True, they both had Harry’s unruly black hair, and they both had tendency to flash their parents an evil wink right before they got up to something naughty. But they had very, _very_ different definitions of what “naughty” meant. 

James had spent his toddler years doing (largely accidental) magic to get himself _into_ things—including cages at the zoo, Ginny’s quidditch matches, and cupboards at the joke shop, provided they looked exciting enough.

Albus’ magic, though, expressed itself in him trying to get  _out_ of trouble. If James started chasing him on his training broom, Albus would somehow disappear and materialize on the roof. If one of his cousins tried to get him to eat something yucky, he would fortuitously transfigure it into a sweet. And of course, there were the sticking jinxes. Much like the one he was currently using.

Due to these ... _di_ _stinctions_... Ginny had a pretty good idea of where her sons would land when they got to Hogwarts, but she kept these thoughts to herself. The Potter line had already dealt with enough prophecies, _thankyouverymuch_.

“Is this all because Gran’s making you wear pink?” Ginny murmured, ruffling Albus’ mop of black hair.

His reply was muffled, but distinctive: “ _No_.  _Pink_.”

Ginny snorted, gesturing down to her own pink jumper. “You don’t even have red hair. Don’t start with me.” 

In Albus’ defense, though, Ginny herself found the whole ordeal more than a little ridiculous. For unspecified reasons, her mother had insisted on an extended Weasley family portrait for Valentine’s Day. To Ginny’s knowledge, no one had received a concrete explanation as to  _why_ a portrait needed to happen during this seemingly random holiday, but Molly had nevertheless handcrafted matching outfits for every individual family unit.

Ginny had a vague suspicion that Molly was taking an inordinate amount of pride in making dresses and tutus for her little granddaughters when she’d only had boys for so long. And because Ginny had been rather tomboyish herself, she’d probably never been one to (willingly) wear a tutu for extended periods of time.

Somehow, the Potters had wound up with the shortest possible end of the stick—matching jumpers, all in a bubblegum pink. Since Ginny was the only Potter with red hair, she justifiably felt she was the only one allowed to be upset with the color clash.

Still, they had little choice in the matter. Mum had booked a photography studio in London, and per usual, they were already running late. Harry would be meeting them there after a trial at work, and with any luck, the two of them could get the boys off to bed fairly quickly and enjoy a nice Valentine’s Day evening for themselves.

Of course, Ginny had some serious doubts about the word “nice” being used to describe their evening plans. Especially given that it had positively _never_ happened before, not since Albus had been born. Especially given that her sons were intent on destroying any semblance of “alone time” that their parents might enjoy. 

These days, interruptions to Harry and Ginny’s sex life stemmed from the fact that her boys were, in fact, _so different_. If James and Albus weren’t at odds, they were probably involved in separate activities that were equally disruptive. Just last night, Harry and Ginny had been attempting to do the washing up after dinner when James had decided to climb the railing of the stairs, jump from the highest possible point, and “land with magic.” By the time Harry and Ginny figured out _where_ that rhythmic thumping was coming from, they reckoned that James’ attempts at using magic like this had been successful maybe 40% of the time.

Then, while they’d been distracted by healing and restraining James, Albus had decided to use this opportunity to try to swipe some sweets after dinner. Naturally, though, he hadn’t simply wandered into the kitchen, where the sweets were both harmless and plentiful. Instead, he’d tiptoed into Harry’s study, opened a drawer, and popped what he’d thought were several chocolates into his mouth.

By the time Harry and Ginny had finished dealing with James, Albus was nowhere to be seen. After an hour of scouring the entire house and shouting his name, they’d been on the panicked brink of summoning the extended Weasley family for help with a search party. Right as Harry had drawn his wand to cast a Patronus, though, a tiny whimpering sound and the open drawer in the study had given Ginny a big hint.

As it turned out, the chocolates that Albus consumed had really been Concealment Confections, a WWW product that Ron and George had just developed and given to Harry for use in the Auror Department. One sweet was considered a full dose for an adult wizard, and was generally enough to render the user invisible for an hour. Albus – who was very small and skinny for his age– had consumed _six_ chocolates.

Putting two toddlers to bed was challenging in its own right, but putting one  _in_ visible toddler to bed while he teased his visible brother was frankly more than Harry or Ginny had ever envisioned when they’d considered having children in the first place. Albus had still been invisible, and only distinguishable by his clothing, when Harry had left for his trial several hours ago. 

Fortunately (or not, Ginny couldn’t really decide), the last of Albus’ limbs had finally returned to full visibility just after lunch. So really,  _truly_ , they had no excuse.

Ginny glanced down at Albus and checked her watch. _Fuck_. She was going to have to resort to bribery. And peer pressure.

“ _Well_ ,” she sighed in feigned defeat, moving to stand up, “it’s a pity that you won’t get up, Al. I heard that if the Potter boys sit quietly and have their photos done, they’ll _both_ get ice cream after dinner tonight.” 

“Ice cream?” said James, jerking his head up. Thank _Merlin_ , he’d still decided to keep all his clothes on...

“ _Mmhmm_ ,” Ginny confirmed stoically. “But unfortunately it doesn’t look like we’ll get any ice cream, because _someone_ is still stuck!” She shrugged apologetically at James, hoping he’d take the cue to –

“ALBUS!” James roared, stomping over to his brother. “GET _UP_ , YOU TOSSER!”

Ginny snorted before she could help herself, and then quickly covered it with her palm.

“ _James_ ,” she said sharply, recovering just in time. “That is one of those words that you are _not_ allowed to say. Are we clear? You absolutely may _not_ say that. I don’t care _who_ says it around you– it’s not a word for little boys.” 

Ginny didn’t even bother asking where he’d learned it; she had no desire to be faced with additional parental shortcomings.

James, who was now kneeling beside his brother, ignored her scolding completely. “Albus,” he said, nudging his leg. “Get _up_.”

Albus lifted his little head and glared.

“Oh  _well_ ,” said Ginny in a sing-song voice. “It looks like only _James_ will get ice cream tonight, since he’s the only Potter boy who is ready to go!” 

“So Albus will get _nothing_?” James asked gleefully, whipping his head around. Ginny narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t sure she liked how thrilled he seemed at this turn of events, but _she’d_ started this, after all.

Ah, well. In for a knut, in for a galleon. 

“Unfortunately, it _does_ look that way,” she said, sighing dramatically. “James will get _all_ the chocolate ice crea –”

She was interrupted by a loud squelching sound. Albus had lifted his arms up from the ground and was wiggling his fingers experimentally. He then brought his arms in front of his body and pushed his chest up, until finally, _finally_ he unstuck his own legs. Soon after, Albus stood up from the ground and wiggled his arms and legs a bit, as if his limbs had merely been asleep.

 _Well I’ll be damned,_ thought Ginny, torn between fascination and annoyance as Albus began to stomp around, testing his weight experimentally. _Harry was right. He really_ can  _control t_ _hose sticking jinxes_ _._

“ _Whoa_ ,” said James, clearly impressed; it seemed he’d already forgotten his delight over his brother being denied a treat. Albus, though, had _not_ forgotten that ice cream was part of the deal.  

“ _Ice cweam_?” he implored as he turned to his mother, his green eyes big and trusting.

“ _Yes_ , love,” she confirmed, rubbing his back, “but not until _after_ dinner, ok? We’ve got to get the photos taken, then come back here, then dinner, _then_ ice cream.”

Albus furrowed his brow and nodded sagely. Ginny smirked; his little face looked identical to Harry’s whenever he agreed to take on a particularly arduous task, like hunting Voldemort. Or yard work.

She shot Albus an encouraging smile. “It won’t be _that_ bad, ok? It’ll be over before you know it. You’ll get to see all of your cousins, too!”

Albus blinked back at her, unconvinced. He turned and stared at the floor again rather hopefully, as if considering whether another sticking jinx would be worth it, after all. Ginny sighed and massaged her temples. She’d really _,_ _really_ have to make sure that boy got his ice cream tonight. 

...then, from the corner of her eye, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a little bum disappearing into the living room.

“Oh, for _fu-_ JAMES, put your clothes back on!”

* * *

 

Harry reckoned that there were several adjectives he could use to describe his niece (and goddaughter). But as she sat perched on Hermione’s lap, her big brown eyes blinking inquisitively around the courtroom, wisps of her auburn curls escaping from the plait that he knew Ron had so painstakingly attempted, only one word came to mind: _adorable_. 

Harry smiled down at her from his seat high in the courtroom, even though he knew she couldn’t see his face. Ron and George must’ve been doing something exceptionally dangerous in the joke shop for Hermione to justify Rose coming to work with her. Rosie accompanied Ron to work 9 times out of 10; Ron preferred it that way, claiming he could “keep the sprog out of trouble.”

Harry knew the truth, though—Ron was just besotted with his little girl. Full stop. It was quite heartwarming, really, to watch Ron (of all people) match pinafore outfits and plait hair and host fancy dress parties with his daughter and her cousins.

The toddler in question turned around to blink up at her mother, her tiny brow creased in a frown as Hermione scribbled something on a piece of parchment. The Wizengamot was currently in the midst of a trial surrounding the transportation of illicit potions across international borders, and they were hearing testimony from their third witness of the day.

The witness, a middle-aged gentleman in muggle clothing, was waffling a bit on his story. Even if Harry hadn’t been a trained interrogator, it would have been obvious that the man was intentionally withholding information.

“Yes, Mr. Berkley,” Hermione sighed. “You’ve now told us about your breakfast three times. If _you_ could skip to the specified question, _we_ could carry on with the trial.” 

Mr. Berkley shuffled his feet a bit. “But you see, ma’ breakfast was truly delicious, and—“ 

But Hermione had clearly reached the end of her rope. Harry didn’t blame her; this was the man’s fifth deflection in as many minutes.

“ _Mr. Berkley_ ,” she snapped, tossing her quill down. “If you don’t care to answer the question regarding the passageways _within_ the restaurant where you ate your breakfast, we shall have no choice but to reconvene tomorrow. _With_ Veratiserum.”

As soon as her mother’s voice took on that sharp edge, Rose folded her arms across her chest and positively _glowered_ at the man, her tiny eyes squinted in a rage that she (almost certainly) did not understand. The look was so completely _Hermione_ that Harry was nearly doubled over laughing before he caught himself.

Luckily, Harry was quite used to hiding his laughter in serious public places; almost as soon as the startled chuckle left his lips, he quickly hid it, pretending he had a terrible cough instead. A man next to him patted him lightly on the back, and Harry raised his hand in silent thanks at the stranger. After Harry had recovered, Kingsley, who was seated on his other side, merely arched his eyebrow. He wasn’t fooled. Harry shook his head firmly, avoiding his gaze. _Sorry, sir_.  _Won’t happen again._  

It looked quite bad for one of the head Aurors to be giggling like, well, _a little girl,_ in the middle of an extremely important hearing. He gulped and looked back up at the Wizengamot, determinedly avoiding glancing over at Hermione and Rose with every force of his will.

Truth be told, Harry felt he had a good reason for failing to take this seriously, since he didn’t fully understand why they’d needed him now in the first place. He wasn’t even slated to provide testimony until tomorrow; his presence during this particular portion of the trial was largely demonstrative, a show of intimidation that dark wizards couldn’t simply _get away_ with causing mayhem. Harry’s eyes strayed to a dim corner of the room. Ah, yes. This was a much safer focal point.

These days, it didn’t take much for Harry’s mind to wander. If he’d thought opportunities for sex were scarce with _one_ baby, he’d been sorely mistaken. And naïve. So, _so_ naïve. He couldn’t even remember the last time he and Ginny had been given the chance to pleasure each other properly, although the rapid-fire, knickers-to-the-side shagging that they’d adopted during nap times and play dates was satisfying in its own right. _And hot_. He gulped, saying a silent prayer that no one in the courtroom was a Legilimens. 

Fortunately, Harry and Ginny had realized fairly early on in their relationship that neither one of them did well without _some_ type of periodic release, so they’d rarely stopped… _relieving…_ each other every few days, especially now that Harry wasn’t being sent on long missions anymore. Still, they hadn’t properly made love—the long, teasing, sensuous kind— since Albus had started walking. Which had been, what? _Four_ months ago? Harry shook his head, a bit sad. He’d have to remedy that. And soon. It was Valentine’s Day, and while his wife had never been one for unnecessary holidays, they _deserved_ a bit of intimacy. Merlin, how long had it even been since he’d tasted Ginny, felt the pulsating of her clit as he flattened his tongue against it? He could still remember the first time he’d done it, right after the war...

But then, just as Harry was getting himself properly worked up into something he couldn’t readily satisfy, Hermione’s voice from the floor broke into his thoughts. 

“You’ve proven, Mr. Berkley, that this matter will not be settled without the use of Veratiserum, so if you’re done wasting everyone’s time—”

“—AHHHH!” A startled shriek pierced the air.

Harry’s eyes – along with everyone else’s – snapped down to the floor of the courtroom.

Even if Harry hadn’t been able to see Rosie, though, he’d have known that sound anywhere; it was that cute little half-giggle-half-scream that his niece let out whenever she was particularly excited. Most of the time, it happened when Ron tossed her in the air...but ah, _yes_ , she had a good reason this time, too. Harry smiled to himself and shook his head.

Someone’s moth Patronus had just materialized in the middle of the Wizengamot, and Rose was positively _enthralled_. From her seat on Hermione’s lap, she was clapping her chubby little hands and bouncing delightedly, trying her hardest to reach up and catch it between her outstretched palms.

Hermione just let out a defeated sigh and slumped back in her chair.

Harry had seen that look on her face many times. She was _done_.

“Kids, eh?” Mr. Berkley grinned.

* * *

“Sorry, sorry!” Ginny called as she stepped through the floo of the photography studio and dragged James and Albus inside. Between the sticking jinx and the bribery and the nudity, they’d ended up leaving the house 30 minutes later than they were supposed to arrive.

As such, Ginny’s patience was at its absolute _end_. She was really, truly not in the mood to receive a scolding from her mother, and showing up this late was bound to result in a lecture about the “importance of planning” and “handling calamities in due time.” The Potters were rather _known_ for not having their shit together. Not that Ginny appreciated it when anyone called attention to that.

Luckily, though, she needn’t have worried; the place was in absolute  _anarchy_.

Several family members seemed to have arrived, but that was the most progress they’d made towards actually getting anyone ready for a photo.

Victoire and Teddy – for once, the _least_ disruptive members of the group– were playing a very enthusiastic game of tag and chasing each other around the room, ignoring Molly, Arthur and Andromeda’s now-halfhearted attempts to get them to settle down. The adults seemed to have realized that there were much bigger problems to worry about.

No...it was George and Angelina’s twins, usually deceptively quiet in their mischief, who were causing the most mayhem. Fred and Roxanne were exchanging particularly devious grins from opposite corners of the room, and for reasons unbeknownst to Ginny, it seemed that Bill, Fleur, and Angelina were attempting to negotiate something with them. Roxanne, joined in the far corner by Dominique, was holding a large box, and it was quite apparent that Angelina was intent on getting it from her. 

A moment later, Ginny understood. Roxanne let out a giggle, and the box, which she could now see was labeled PHOTO INK: PERMANENT, suddenly shot from her hands, flew a bit unsteadily through the air, and landed in Fred’s arms across the room. Bill, Fleur, and Angelina let out a collective groan.

Dominique and Louis, positively enraptured, then chased the box from one corner of the room to the other while laughing madly. Victoire and Teddy, still engrossed in their game of tag, merely ducked to avoid the projectile. Bill just rubbed his face with his hands. Ginny knew that expression well; he’d given up.

“Stop it – stop it _now_ , you two! You’re going to get everyone dirty before the photo!” yelled Angelina 

“But  _Mummy_!” pled Roxanne, her voice dripping with false innocence. “Can’t you see how clever we are? We can get the box from one corner to the other without even touching it!”

“Yes, Mummy!” Fred agreed. “We _must_ be the cleverest kids in Britain. I don’t know anyone else who can do... _THIS_!” He closed his eyes in concentration and sent the box flying across the room again. Dominique and Louis shrieked in delight and ran after the box once more, clapping in glee when Roxanne deftly caught it in her outstretched arms. 

“ _STOP! THAT_ _!_ _NOW!_ ” Angelina roared, turning to face her daughter again and attempting to wrench the box from her grasp. “You just _wait_ until your father gets here. Getting you wound up in the shop all day and then sending you here, honestly, I don’t know  _what_ he expected...”

She continued ranting as the studio door creaked open. Percy and Little Molly entered first, followed by Audrey, who was cradling newborn Lucy against her chest. Little Molly (who wasn’t particularly little, but was called that to be distinguished from her grandmother) was excitedly chattering to Percy about something she’d seen at the zoo the other day. Percy was nodding politely, clearly more focused on getting the family in from the cold and hanging up their coats.

By now, Angelina and Roxanne, oblivious to the newcomers, were full-on wrestling with the box, each absolutely _determined_ to ensure possession.

And then, catastrophe struck.

Perhaps through a combination of both their efforts, the box went sailing through the air, getting closer and closer to exactly where Little Molly was standing. She’d just turned her head towards the source of the noise, the box _whooshing_ towards her... 

As if in slow-motion, Ginny lunged towards them to try to stop it, but even before she’d reached Percy, it was too late. All she could do was grab her children and watch, in horror, as the box got closer and closer to Percy’s family until... 

It exploded. 

The box absolutely _exploded_.

Bits of cardboard and photo ink and paper mixed together mid-air like some sort of ghastly confetti. And then, an instant later, it was _raining down_ , absolutely covering the carpet and Louis and Dominique, who had (yet again) tried to chase the box.

A heavy silence fell over the room. Louis and Dominique numbly blinked ink out of their eyes. Little Molly stood five feet in front of the puddle of ink and her ink-covered cousins, her mouth agape, her brow furrowed in terror. 

“Did...did you do that, sweetheart?” Percy asked, white as a sheet, staring at the remnants of the box. “You’ve always been able to control your magic before.” 

“I-I didn’t want the box to hit on the baby!” Little Molly whispered back, her lips trembling. 

It was as if her explanation served as a catalyst; the second it left her mouth, the chaos exploded again.

Louis and Dominique started screaming at the tops of their lungs. Little Molly, both bewildered and terrified, joined them. Victoire and Teddy, startled by the noise, tripped over each other, ripping Victoire’s tutu. And – before anyone had _any_ time to intervene – the twins had somehow materialized on top of a very large shelf in the far corner of the room.  

Ginny scarcely had time to appreciate that James and Albus _hadn’t_ been the ones to cause the trouble before the adults sprang into action. Bill and Fleur rushed over to their youngest children and attempted a series of charms to remove the ink. Big Molly scolded Teddy and Victoire and placed them back-to-back on a makeshift naughty step. Angelina furiously ran over to the twins, swearing under her breath and summoning George with her Patronus. Andromeda and Arthur began apologizing profusely to the store manager, who was looking like he’d never quite seen a gathering like this before. 

“Take her!” Audrey said urgently, turning to Ginny and thrusting baby Lucy into her arms. Without a backwards glance, she rushed over to Little Molly, who was now throwing a full-fledged tantrum on the floor.

“Oh, I couldn’t, I’ve got...” Ginny tried to respond, looking around for her own children in the pandemonium. But it was too late; James and Albus had both wandered off somewhere in the room. With all the commotion and movement, it was a bit hard to tell where, exactly, they’d gone to. Ginny groaned. Knowing James, he’d soon be putting himself smack in the middle of the chaos – the same chaos that Albus would be doing everything to avoid. 

A gurgling sound came from the bundle in Ginny’s arms. She and Harry hadn’t gotten to see Lucy – not yet. She was only two weeks old, and between both of their jobs and both of their toddlers, the opportunity just hadn’t presented itself.

Ginny bit her lip. Was it cheating, getting to see the baby before Harry did? Honestly, she wasn’t sure. They’d always done this part together, the meeting-new-babies-thing. Given that her siblings had started procreating before she’d even left Hogwarts, there had never been a real shortage of infants in the Weasley family.

Not that Harry had ever minded babies, regardless of who they belonged to. For a man who lived his life fighting off dark wizards and getting himself into all types of grueling, life-or-death scenarios, he was exceedingly gentle and sweet with kids, particularly with  _their_ kids. He was the pushover, even, especially with Albus, and he’d been just as proud at his birth as he had been at James’.

Ginny sighed and looked at the ceiling, thoroughly undecided.

Because, of course, her hesitancy about even _looking_ at Lucy was compounded by an even more overwhelming fact: Harry wanted a little girl.

Ginny didn’t know if _he’d_ even realized it yet, but she reckoned he hadn’t – he’d never been great at keeping secrets. Ginny, herself, could only tell how badly he wanted one from the way his eyes got all misty whenever he saw one of their many nieces, how he grinned like an utter lunatic whenever Rosie did _anything_ , how he got all gormless and mushy whenever a new baby wore a bow or a dress.

In one instant, though, Ginny was removed from her contemplation: Lucy started to _whimper_. The decision was made for her – she couldn’t _help_ but comfort a newborn.

“It’s ok, love,” she soothed, pulling the blankets back from the baby’s face.

Then, her breath caught in her throat. She blinked to center herself, but somehow found that the calamity around her had dimmed a bit. 

The baby was _perfect_. Absolutely, completely _perfec_ _t._

Ginny always forgot how perfect babies were – their little features so delicate, yet so defined. Even though she’d had two of her own babies, there were always things she’d managed to forget, like how their heads smelled when she kissed them, or how it positively _melted_ her insides when they shot her those little gummy grins.

Ginny smiled down at Lucy, her eyes sweeping the planes of her heart-shaped face, from her forehead down to her little button nose. Lucy yawned and stretched, her all face wrinkled and scrunched up, and... _oh_.

She had red hair.

Ginny swallowed. Her heart started racing in her throat.

She promptly began chastising herself. _Of course she’s got red hair. S_ _he’s a_ Weasley _._ _Get a bloody grip._ Ginny shook her head, trying to clear it. She was being simply ridiculous. They could barely handle the two boys they had, and having a _third_ would be –

Before Ginny even had time to talk herself out of it, though, Lucy opened her eyes. The baby’s tiny little mouth opened in a perfect _O_ , and she blinked around contentedly. Her long eyelashes delicately brushed against her pink cheeks. Merlin, her skin was like  _porcelain_...

Suddenly, Ginny found herself sinking into a plush armchair behind her, one she’d only vaguely been aware of before. She cradled Lucy with an indescribable softness, just loving the weight of her, and several moments later – or maybe days, or months, or years – her little face split into an angelic smile.

Mesmerized, Ginny dragged her index finger across a bright red eyebrow. Lucy squirmed pleasantly against her touch, burrowing herself deeper into Ginny’s shaking arms. The ivory undertones beneath her pink cheeks created the most gorgeous contrast against her flaming hair, and she looked – for all the world – like a beautiful little ginger cherub.

 _I’d love a baby with red hair_ , Ginny realized numbly. The realization left her dizzy, but the sensation was startlingly familiar, like she’d lived it before in a dream. Had that desire _always_ been lurking there beneath the surface, just waiting to make itself known? Of course, James and Albus were gorgeous in their own right, with their black hair that left little doubt about whose sons they were. 

...but a baby with _red_ hair? 

She bit her lip and slammed her eyes shut against the rising feelings in her chest.

No. No _no_ no. This was _such_ a bad idea. _Such_.

But it was too late. She took a shuddering breath and adjusted Lucy a bit closer, and as she did, their brown eyes finally met. Lucy let out a little high-pitched coo and snuggled further into Ginny’s embrace. As Ginny held her, this earthy, rushing,  _pounding_ feeling – one she could no longer suppress, but one that she’d definitely felt before– worked its way up from her feet to the top of her head; it was all she could do to take deep breaths while she continued staring, the baby tethering her to this moment of peace while the rest of the world dissolved around them. 

...Oh,  _fucking_ _hell_ , what had she done?

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Harry materialized outside of the photography studio. He smiled a bit to himself; even with the door closed, he could hear the dull roar of shrieks and giggles as his extended family (presumably) attempted to corral the children into some semblance of order for the portrait.

Before he had time to give it much thought, a _crack_ beside him signified the arrival of Rose and Hermione. Harry looked over at them, arching an eyebrow.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hermione said hastily, bending over to straighten Rose’s skirt. “Had to secure the Veritaserum for tomorrow, and… _dear God._ ” Her voice froze as she quickly swiveled her head to the door. She turned to Harry, eyes wide and frantic. “Is  _all_ of that noise coming from them?!”

Harry shrugged. “Wouldn’t be a Weasley gathering without a little chaos, right?”

Hermione snorted and took Rose into her arms, balancing her on her hip. Rose shot Harry a timid little grin before she burrowed deeper into her mother’s arm. Harry playfully waved back at her, though her head was turned into Hermione’s shoulder.

“She’s going through a _shy phase_ right now,” Hermione said, with a trace of apology. Harry was about to comment that there had been nothing _shy_ about the way she’d commanded the attention of the Wizengamot earlier, but the door suddenly burst open, nearly hitting them both across the face. 

“ _Albus!_ ” Molly’s voice carried from inside, exasperation apparent in her tone. 

And sure enough, it seemed that in a fit of accidental magic, little Albus had somehow managed to open the door by himself. Harry chuckled a bit as he took in his youngest son, who was standing in the doorway of the studio with a distinctly perturbed look in green eyes. He shuffled his tiny feet back and forth and stuck a finger in his mouth, glancing nervously at the chaos over his shoulder. 

It was quite a sad sight, really, and Harry sensed major tears coming soon if he didn’t intervene.

“I’ve got him, Molly!” Harry waved at his mother-in-law across the din of the room, kneeling down to hug his wayward toddler. Albus gave a little sigh, nuzzling his head in the crook of his father’s neck.

Hermione peered down at Harry with a knowing smile before walking inside with Rose. The personality differences between James and Albus were a well-known and often-discussed fact in the extended Weasley family.

Harry hoisted Albus up his hip and strode inside, closing the door behind them. “And where were you planning to _go_ , mate?” he whispered into his ear, pressing a kiss to his temple.

Albus just huffed and whispered, “ _Dah_ -dee.”

Based on Albus’reaction, Harry had been expecting the most anarchic scene possible inside the studio. He was not disappointed.

In the far corner, Fred and Roxanne, wearing matching evil grins, had somehow gotten themselves on top of a tall shelf of photography supplies. Harry reckoned they’d probably done some accidental magic to get themselves up there in the first place, as Molly and Angelina were both attempting to coax them down with words instead of wand work. In Harry’s opinion, this was a complete waste of time; trying to _make_ the twins do anything was rarely a successful venture. It seemed that Ron and George were of a similar mind, as they’d both resorted to waving multicolored sweets at the twins in an attempt to bribe them down instead.

On the other side of the room, Teddy, clad in a purple jumper set, was chasing a shrieking Victoire as she held her tutu above her head. Victoire was daintily ducking away from his attempts at tugging her beautiful blonde locks out of her ballerina bun, but it unclear how long she would manage to prevail. Bill and Fleur were too distracted to intercede, as they were busy repeatedly casting _scourgify_ over their two other children, who were covered—from head to toe—in what appeared to be photo ink.

Even Percy and Audrey’s eldest daughter, usually the best-behaved of the bunch, was in the midst of a full-fledged tantrum, flailing on the carpet and kicking her tiny legs as she screamed. Percy and Audrey were both crouched beside her, their faces pale and eyes wide, looking as horrified as if their daughter just cast an Unforgivable.

And Charlie, who had left the dragon reserve for the occasion, wore a contented grin and merely observed the insanity from the sidelines. The look on his face suggested that he was quite satisfied that he’d never settled down and started his own family.

Harry’s eyes continued scanning the room, wondering where the Potters had gotten to…James and Ginny were never ones to shy away from chaos…and _ah, yes_! He released a startled snort as his eyes settled on his three-year-old. His eldest son, and the crowning gem of the whole scene, in Harry’s opinion, was standing—completely naked—on the far left side of the studio. His little arms were akimbo, his chin was tilted up proudly, and he wore a toothy grin that screamed  _L_ _ook at me,_ _D_ _addy, aren’t I clever_ _?_

Harry just met his son’s gaze and sighed. There was no point in fighting a battle he’d already lost; that kid was a Gryffindor, through and through. Albus snuggled closer into his arms and let out a tiny whimper. Harry stroked his back; his reasons for wanting to escape had never been clearer.

But where was Ginny in this chaos? If she’d seen James in his birthday suit, she definitely would’ve put a stop to it by now. Harry shifted Albus on his hip and kept scanning the room until a flash of red caught his eye. Ah, yes, there she was— sitting in an armchair, clearly lost in her own world as she stared at (what looked like) a pile of blankets in her arms. Ginny seemed so peaceful, so demure, that he’d completely skipped over her the first time he gave the room a once-over.

She seemed to feel the warmth of his stare, because a second later she looked up, catching his eye. For _just a moment_ she shared this small smile with him, one that he’d only seen on rare occasions when she felt especially vulnerable. Her cheeks were flushed, and she lifted her arms in a half-shrug, gesturing with her head down to the blankets in her arms.

 _Oh_. That explained it — she was holding the new baby. 

Harry gulped.

Suddenly, he found himself a bit uncomfortable, like the room was spinning, like the world had shifted a bit, like he was glimpsing everything through a different lens. He couldn’t pinpoint _why_ , exactly, but he reckoned it was one of those things he’d figure out at the most inopportune time. That’s how he’d realized he fancied Ginny, after all. 

He adjusted Albus on his hip while he continued staring at her, even as her gaze drifted downwards towards the baby again. It was like a magnetic  _pull_ , he marveled, watching as Ginny lifted a gentle finger to Lucy’s face, that gentle, confident smile still playing on her lips. Truthfully, he probably would have been content to stare at her for hours while he tried to suss out his bloody _feelings_ ; Ginny had always been easy on the eyes, even before they’d started dating.  

And it didn’t help that she'd  _never_ been more attractive to him than when she was holding a baby. At times, this had been downright inconvenient, like when they’d babysat Teddy at the Burrow immediately after the war, before they were even properly back together. As a baby, Teddy had been quite fond of giving himself black hair and green eyes, especially if Harry had just held him. Although this was adorable, it always stirred up something quite… _over_ _powering_ …in Harry’s chest if he even spared a sidelong glance at Ginny cooing and grinning over this little black-haired baby. Every single time, he’d had to excuse himself from the room to _get a bloody grip_.

Now, Ginny shifted Lucy to a different position in her arms, which provided Harry with a better look at his wife’s attire. As promised, the Potters were all wearing the matching pink jumpers that Molly had provided, but Ginny’s was quite snug. Based on how fitted it was across her chest, Molly had clearly used slightly outdated measurements when she’d crafted it. It didn’t look inappropriate, by any means, but it _was_ slightly more sensual than standard Molly Weasley clothing. 

This didn’t bother Harry, of course. He found Ginny even more stunning now that she had a few more curves on her chest and hips, especially since he’d (more or less) put those curves there himself. Harry was particularly smug about that actually — about the fact that Ginny Weasley had carried _his_ babies— and whenever he really thought about that, it was something that made him feel warm from the inside out.

Oh...and now Ginny was taking the baby _out_ of her blankets, still propping her against her shoulder, a grin spread across her face. 

 _W_ _ait_. 

Harry swallowed again.

She had red hair. Lucy had _red hair_.

And it was then, with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach — one that wasn’t altogether unpleasant, one that almost felt expected, like it had been a long time coming— that Harry realized exactly what he was feeling.

* * *

Later that night, Harry finally huffed back down the stairs, throwing himself into a kitchen chair beside his wife. From the looks of things, she’d somehow managed to fall asleep at the table, right in the middle of the hubbub of getting the boys off to bed. Her nose was currently drooping closer and closer to her mug of firewhiskey hot cocoa, and Harry knew that she’d be facing some serious consequences if he didn’t wake her up sooner rather than later.

“Hey,” he whispered, tucking a strand of silky hair behind her ear. As Harry had predicted, she jolted a bit in her seat, her eyes suddenly wide and staring, only visibly relaxing when she saw Harry’s face grinning back at her. 

“ _Hey_ ,” she rasped, picking up her mug and taking a sip.

“I’m a bit envious, you know,” Harry noted as he warmed up his own abandoned mug with a tap of his wand. “I’d never be able to just drift off like that, not in the middle of all that commotion.”

“Yes, well, you and Albus seem to have that in common,” she murmured, nuzzling his shoulder.

Harry laughed and took sip. “Not James, though. I swear that kid could sleep through the house getting demolished.”

“What can I say? He gets it from his mother.” Ginny sighed happily and glanced over Harry’s shoulder. 

“And look!” she added brightly, gesturing towards the wall. “It looks like James threw some ice cream after dinner. He hasn’t done that since he was a baby. Our walls probably  _did_ need some redecorating.”

 _Baby_. 

Harry felt his heart beat faster, his breath catching in his throat. He chanced a peek at Ginny as she lazily flicked her wand at the wall and rose to collect their leftover dinner dishes. Before Harry could help it, he felt himself outright staring as she submerged their plates into the soapy water. Her hands were so soft, but so  _strong_ , just like the rest of her…

Merlin, he must be losing it—even watching Ginny doing the washing up was reminding him of how gentle she’d been with Lucy as she’d cradled her on her shoulder, how she’d pressed soft kisses to the baby’s crown of red hair, that sweet smile on her lips...

And, to be honest, as attractive as Harry found Ginny while she was holding _someone else’s_ baby, there was absolutely no comparison to how attracted he was when she held  _his_ babies, with their chubby fists and thick black hair, even if the resemblance between his sons ended with their looks. At this point, would another baby really make a dent in the everyday chaos of the Potter home? Especially if it was _their_ little baby that Ginny was cuddling against her chest, whispering words of love against her tiny little head…

“Alright there, Potter? You’ve gone all pale and clammy all of a sudden.” Ginny sank down into her chair again and reached a hand out to feel his forehead.

Harry nodded, taking her hand in his. For some reason, admitting this to her was making him obscenely nervous, like he’d kept her in the dark about some big important secret. Which, he supposed, was technically true, even if he hadn’t even  _known_ this secret about himself prior to this afternoon.

Well, what was it she always said about not keeping their thoughts from each other?

“Hey Gin,” he began in what he hoped was a casual tone. He took a deep breath. “Let’s have a baby.” 

Harry had fully expected a quick denial, an immediate dismissal, even an annoyed eye-roll accompanied by a toss of her fiery hair. After all, Ginny was rather exhausted, and she tended to get a bit testy when she got tired.

But instead of any of those, Ginny was staring at him with a smirk— _a smirk_!— her arms crossed against her chest. “Finally figured out you want one, have you? Took you long enough.”

Harry sputtered for a second and blinked back at her, green eyes wide and unfocused. He swallowed heavily. How the buggering _hell_ did she—?

By now, Ginny’s smirk had evolved into a wide grin. Oh _fuck_ , she’d known before he did. _Yet again_. Harry accepted defeat and groaned, placing his glasses on the table and rubbing his hands over his face.

There were a few moments of gloating silence in which Ginny calmly sipped her cocoa, reveling in the fact that she’d known something he hadn’t. It was a testament to _just_ how well they knew each other, she thought, that times like these were so few and far between. 

“ _Alright_ ,” Harry finally conceded,rubbing at his chin. “There may be _a few things_ in life that I’m fairly decent at.”

Ginny snorted beside him, rolling her eyes. She wasn’t exactly sure where he was going with this, but his modesty was as ludicrous as ever. _A few things I’m fairly decent at_. Honestly, to ask the man, he’d been a bloody bystander in the fall of Voldemort.

“But it’s not a mystery that I’m not exactly skilled at knowing my own feelings,” Harry continued, titling his head to look at her again. Without his glasses, she was (basically) a blur of red and white. Oddly, Harry found that less intimidating.

But if he wanted another baby—and he really, _truly_ did—they needed to have an honest conversation about this. He put his glasses back on and met her eyes again.

Ginny just blinked several times and stared at him pointedly. “Harry. You literally had to catch me snogging someone else before you realized you’d like to snog me. Things tend to hit you at a million miles per hour or miss you completely.”

Harry released a faint chuckle, still staring at the table. He began to trace over the wooden swirls on the pattern with his forefinger.  _Damn_ , he was thick.

“More specifically, you want a little _girl,_ ” Ginny continued, interrupting his confused reverie. “But as I’m sure you’re well aware, we can’t exactly control these things.” She added the last bit as more of an afterthought, leaning back in her chair.

But Harry was still staring at the table in front of him with a look of dazed recognition, as if every puzzle piece had finally come together in his head. Merlin’s balls, how long had he wanted a baby without even _knowing_ it?

Ginny finally put her mug down on the table. “Seriously, Harry. You’ve wanted a little girl for ages. Practically since Rose was born. I didn’t realize it would come as _that_ much of a shock.”

Harry just shrugged helplessly. His mind was still reeling in a free-fall, grappling to come to terms with the fact that he’d wanted something  _th_ _is_ _badly_ without even knowing it.

Then again, how long did he reckon he’d fancied Ginny before he figured it out?

Gods, he was daft.

“ _Sorry,_ ” he sighed. “You married an idiot. I don’t know what else to tell you.”

“I ‘spose I did, didn’t I?” She exhaled dramatically and tossed her hair back. “Since you couldn’t figure this out, I reckon it’s no _wonder_ that your dirty clothes never manage to make it to the laundry bin.”

“You’re right, Gin,” Harry began, his voice solemn. “I guess you’ve finally come to your senses. If you’d like to go ahead and chuck me now, I’d understand. We can split the kids. You and James can move to a nudist colony, and I’ll take Albus to – ”

Ginny laughed and smacked his arm affectionately; the very _thought_ was ludicrous. “Nah, Potter, I reckon you’re stuck with me. Besides, no one on _earth_ could deal with James single-handedly.” 

There were a few more moments of silence. Ginny leaned back again and cocked her head knowingly; she was prepared to wait. Of course, she knew what her husband was after, but she’d be damned if she didn’t get a little kick out of making him squirm and ask the question himself.

Did that make her sick? Yeah, probably...

“ _Wel_ _ll,_ ” Harry began slowly, his tone in equal parts hopeful and uncertain. “D-do _you_ want another one?” 

 _Yes._ _Y_ _esyesyes_. _**Yes**_. 

But Ginny wasn’t giving that away — not that quickly. It wasn’t often she had one over on Harry, and she had no intention of wasting this rare opportunity. So instead, she gave him an affable shrug and uttered, “Eh. I suppose I could be persuaded.” 

“ _Liar,”_ Harry smirked. He’d seen her with Lucy; that look of longing was something even Ginny couldn’t replicate.  

She rolled her eyes and took another drink from her mug. She supposed that settled it, then — they’d have a third. Harry seemed to agree. He was now leaning back in his chair, unabashedly raking his eyes up and down her body, content to ogle her while he finished his drink.

But after a few moments of comfortable silence, Ginny got this weird niggling feeling; it was almost like an itch, starting somewhere deep in her head. Something was bothering her a little about this whole conversation, something she couldn’t quite nail down...

She glanced over at Harry. He was now flashing her the same contented, gormless grin he developed whenever they talked about their kids...or whenever he got her pregnant. And since it seemed like he got her pregnant whenever he bloody glanced at her sideways, she was quite used to seeing _that look_ on his face. 

Oh,  _bullocks,_ he couldn’t _possibly_ think that – 

She nearly spat out her drink as she slammed down her mug.

“Wait. You know we’re _done_ after this, right?” Ginny demanded, her voice suddenly serious. She didn’t wait for a response before she plowed on. “I’m not kidding, Harry. I don’t care if it’s a girl or a boy – or what color hair it has. We are _done_.” 

Harry just tipped his chair back and scratched his head. In truth, he hadn’t really given much consideration to how many children he’d like to have. He knew he liked chaos in his home, a little slice of Weasley life that, of course, came complete with magical mishaps, banter, and happy kids running amok. He loved that he could give his kids the carefree, loving, joyous childhood that he’d certainly never received. So what would be the harm, really, in adding a few more to the mix?

But then he looked around their kitchen, which was somehow perpetually covered in muck regardless how many domestic charms they used. He glanced down at the floor, which was coated in crumbs and melted ice cream and pasta. Then, he met Ginny’s pressing gaze, her brown eyes framed by dark circles, the ones that appeared at night once her (very minimal) glamour charms had worn off and exhaustion had set in. Even as she continued to eye him critically, she swayed a bit in her seat, like she could pass out at any given moment. 

Yeah, that did it. 

“Three is enough,” he agreed simply, putting his chair back down on the floor.“Besides. It feels like we’ve already got five of them, between James and Albus. We must’ve hit some type of cosmic problem child lottery with those two.” 

Ginny moaned, resting her head on Harry’s shoulder. “And don’t forget Teddy. As much as I love him, he always contributes to the insanity.”

Harry waved his hand dismissively. “Eh, Teddy’ll be off at Hogwarts soon, he can’t cause us nearly as much trouble from there. _And_ we might be getting ahead of ourselves,” he added fairly, taking another sip. “We don’t even know how long it’ll take. Getting pregnant with Albus was just a sheer stroke of luck.” 

Ginny arched an eyebrow.

“Ok, James was _also_ lucky,” Harry conceded. “But c’mon, not in _nearly_ the same way. His was more of a holy-shit-that-really-IS-what-happens-when-you-forget-contraception type experience.”

Ginny chuckled darkly, but didn’t disagree. She’d been there too, after all.

“So yeah,” Harry continued, bringing his arms up to rest behind his head. “I reckon we starting _trying_ now, and who knows?” He wagged his eyebrows. “We’ll enjoy the _trying_ while it lasts.”

Instead of returning his blatant invitation, though, Ginny just wrinkled her nose and turned to stare into her mug. Harry blinked at her and dropped his hands incredulously. For _fuck’s sake_ , did she seriously know something _else_ he didn’t? How in the name of Merlin was a bloke supposed to keep up?! What was it now, that he secretly wanted his own circus? That he wanted to travel the world on Sirius’ motorbike and join a nunnery and – 

“ _Well._ ” Ginny interrupted his frenzied thoughts, her voice sounding small and higher by several octaves. “Actually, it might happen sooner than we think.”

“Oh?” Harry asked, relaxing a bit. This certainly hadn’t been the direction he’d expected this to go, which he rather appreciated; he’d endured a few too many personal discoveriesfor one day. 

There was a pause.

Ginny regarded him thoughtfully, then cleared her throat. “Would you believe me if I said this was one of those things you’d really rather not know about?” 

“ _Y_ _e_ _p_ ,” he replied automatically, turning back to his mug.

Ginny rolled her eyes and coughed something that sounded suspiciously like “ _coward_.” Harry chuckled, but didn’t question it, which was just as well for her; she’d really rather not go into the specifics of what she’d discovered about pureblood witches and ovulation during a recent chat with Mum. 

“ _All_ you need to know is that it’ll happen – it’s almost a guarantee,” she said firmly, placing her empty mug on the table. “There’s a _reason_ it happened so fast the first two times.”

“And I’ll take your word for it,” said Harry, still keen to avoid the topic entirely.

“Gryffindor, my _arse_ ,” Ginny whispered fondly, nuzzling her head into Harry’s shoulder. She allowed her eyes to flutter closed. Even an uncomfortable wooden chair was no match for her exhaustion. As the first wisps of sleep began to overtake her, she dimly realized that she’d gladly stay there until morning. 

Harry, however, had no intention of letting that happen. Most of the time, he wasn’t nearly as oblivious as he’d been today – and he would absolutely _not_ be abandoning a rare opportunity to shag his wife.

“Nope, up you get,” he said brightly, standing up and pushing in his chair. “Your charming husband wants to do things to you that don’t involve sleeping, but even _he_ knows better than to try to wake you up once you’re down. You and your eldest son are unusually heavy sleepers, after all.”

Ginny guffawed drowsily. “Oh, James is _my_ son now, is he? I seem to recall us both being involved in making him...up against that door, wasn’t it?” She yawned and stretched again. 

Harry snorted and helped her to her feet. “Yeah, well, I think we can both agree that randomly taking off all of his clothes makes the kid more you than me. Unless you’re forgetting about that time in the Room of Requirement. Or during the Harpies signing party. Or at that Ministry function last year.”

“ _Whatever_ ,” she purred. Her arms wrapped around his waist as they walked to the stairs...but then one more thought occurred to her – one that was too good to pass up. 

“Harry, you _do_ know this means you’re doing breakfast tomorrow, right?” 

* * *

  
They giggled and bumped against each other all the way up the stairs, and Harry took every opportunity to touch her.

“You’re going to have to be on top, you know,” Ginny said tiredly as the pushed open the door. “I’m too damn exhausted to—” 

But his lips were on hers in an instant, a welcome interruption as his strong arms pushed her down onto the bed. Without even looking up, he slammed and silenced the door with a wave of his wand. Ginny sighed a bit and relaxed into the snog, more than content to let him take the lead. It wasn’t often that Harry _demanded_ control like this—all forceful and authoritative and self-assured—but Merlin, the difference it made. 

“Take your trousers off,” he murmured into her ear, his mouth nibbling its way up and down her neck. Ginny moaned and arched into him, rubbing her center against the erection that was threatening to poke through his pajama bottoms. She ignored his request and reached up to peel off her vest instead. Her breasts bounced from the movement and Harry immediately went slack-jawed, grinding his cock even harder against her.  _Sweet_ _Circe_ , he was hard...

Clearly, though, he was in no mood for games.

Harry grunted sharply and pulled back, holding her hips down on the bed. “I _said_ ,” he repeated, hooded eyes penetrating hers. “ _Take. Off. Your. Trousers_.”

Ginny arched an eyebrow, but nevertheless hooked her fingers around the elastic waistband, slowly sliding her pajamas over her bum and down her legs. Then, using a tactic that had never failed before, she pulled her bottom lip into her mouth and released it, all glistening and pink. With a growl, Harry captured her mouth again, his tongue demanding entrance against hers.

She let him in with a whimper, rolling her hips to provide more friction between them as he slid a finger into her sopping heat. For the millionth time in his life, Harry said a silent prayer of thanks that she was just as randy as he was. And that she never wore knickers to bed.

“And what about _your_ trousers?” Ginny asked after a moment, propping herself up on her elbows. “Going to take them off yourself, or are you really going to make me do all the work?”

Harry’s eyes glittered. “No. I’m going to make you come. _Hard_.” 

Ginny pursed her lips and tried to shrug with an air of nonchalance, even as she felt herself get wetter. “Do your worst, Potter.”

He chuckled and placed gentle kisses down her body until she was spread out of in front of him, her red, dewy curls glistening in the faint light. Before he could help himself, he inhaled her scent, rubbing his cock against the mattress to relieve some of the building pressure.

Other blokes might have reservations about this particular activity, but Harry hadn’t, not even from the very beginning. He genuinely loved tasting her like this, a fact he’d discovered after the war, when he’d realized that certain _distractions_ just weren’t worth it anymore...

 _Ginny_ _was s_ _played out on her bed and naked from the waist down, arms thrown over her face as a pretty blush bloomed across her features. The first time she’d turned that color, Harry had thought she was embarrassed. After all, wasn’t that_ usually  _the color people turned when they got embarrassed?_  

 _But now that he’d been responsible for several of her orgasms by way of his hands or the friction caused by rubbing themselves together (an act which surely looked a lot more erotic than it sounded), he’d finally cottoned on:_ _W_ _hen Ginny turned that precise shade of red, it meant she was_ close _. And now that they’d overcome so much to be together, he’d be damned if he’d let anything—even fucking Death Eaters—stop that._

 _It had taken some convincing that he really,_ really _wanted to try this—and not just from a retribution standpoint. It was actually something he’d fantasized about quite a lot, even from their Hogwarts days, when Seamus had passed a dirty magazine around the Gryffindor tower. Now that Harry was in_ _the_ _thick of_ _it,_ _h_ _e was pleased to find that pleasuring her like this wasn’t much different from licking a lolly..._ _but_ _it was a_ lot  _more fun._

 _After a few tentative licks at the bundle of nerves towards the top of her cunny, Ginny’s hips began sweetly humping his face, her red mane strewn about the bed, all hopes of maintaining it forgotten. She was panting heavily and making these little half-grunts, half-whimpers, and Harry thought—no,_ knew _—that in that moment, she was the sexiest fucking thing he’d ever seen. On instinct, he reached two fingers into her sopping center. Ginny reacted immediately, throwing her head back and grabbing at his hair, and before he knew what was happening, she was crying out garbled versions of his name and he was rutting his aching cock against the bed, because bloody buggering fuck, had_ anything  _ever turned him on this much?!_

Knock knock knock.

“ _Harry?” Ron’s voice drifted through the door. Ginny shrieked in frustration and threw her arms over her face._

 _Ron continued, undeterred. Harry reasoned that even if he_ had  _heard Ginny making noises, he was pretending he hadn’t. This was a wise strategy._

“ _There are some people from the Ministry here. They want to talk to you. It’s really important.”_

_Without looking up, Harry just drew a ragged, annoyed breath, picked up his wand, and cast a silencing charm._

“ _Thank God,” Ginny murmured, grabbing down at his hair again as he laughed against her center._

Years had passed since his first time doing _this_ to her, but Harry’s enthusiasm hadn’t waned, not even for a second. Going down on Ginny, watching her writhe and scream and come apart from his tongue, was erotic. Full stop.

Ginny was now splayed out before him, in much the same way as she had been the first time, and he was busy licking her clitoris while two of his fingers pumped in and out. She groaned deeply, clutching the bedspread, and Harry wasn’t surprised to find that his cock was already rock-hard and rutting forcefully against the mattress. His body _always_ had this physical response to tasting her— it was automatic, something he couldn’t control.

Occasionally, he’d get so hard during this process that he’d just _have_ tostroke himself while he licked her, if only to to relieve some of the building pressure. The first time Ginny had looked down to see him doing _that_ — his hand working rhythmically over his cock as he worshipped her with his mouth—she’d immediately climaxed, right on the spot. And at the gorgeous sight of Ginny’s head tipped back, chest flushed, combined with the knowledge that _he’d_ made her do that, Harry had followed her over the edge with a low groan, spurting all over the bedspread in her room at the Burrow.

Harry was so lost in his own memories that he almost hadn’t noticed Ginny’s cries now growing louder and more insistent. His cock was rubbing so mutinously against his trousers that it was nearly numb; it had reached the point of pain from the moment he’d first smelled her. He reached down to grab himself, if only for some temporary  _relie_ _f_ , when—

“Oi, Potter, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Ginny said sharply, propping herself up on her elbows and glaring down at him. Her chest was flushed, and Harry smirked; her orgasm had been building.

“We’ve got to save that,” she said, gesturing at his crotch. “That’s how this _works_ , you kn—“

“I’m sorry, but do you mind?” Harry cut across her, his tone as casual as if he were delivering a Ministry briefing. “I’m trying to give my wife an earth-shattering orgasm, and she tends to despise interruptions.”

Ginny giggled, but quickly caught herself. “Your aforementioned _wife_ happens to know that her husband rarely lasts for longer than thirty seconds after he’s done _this_ to her. And said wife might just enjoy a _second_ orgasm, once in a blue moon.” She punctuated her statement by wriggling her bum against the bed. Harry was momentarily distracted by the gentle sway of her breasts.

 _Fuck_. He’d never been as good with the banter when she was topless.

“Well, dearest wife,” he continued, clearing his throat. “What is your husband to do about the fact that he finds it quite erotic to make you come? More than once, even?” He plunged a finger into her still-sopping center, and she hissed, rolling her hips. 

“Although if you’d prefer, he could just skip the oral sex altogether and—" 

“Now, now, let’s not be hasty,” Ginny said hurriedly, as Harry laughed. She laid back down and guided his head to its original position, and Harry gladly followed her lead, determined to finish her off as quickly as he could. 

He resumed his ministrations, trying his hardest to abide by her instructions, to think about _other_ _things_ , regardless of how much she liked it when he touched himself. Ginny tipped her head back again, resting her weight on her elbows, her bright red hair just grazing the bedspread beneath her. 

Beneath his tongue, she was making the sexiest little mewling sounds — ones that, under normal circumstances, would have probably been able to get him off on their own. Harry couldn’t help but get even harder; he was starting to get legitimately concerned that he’d either come in his trousers or cut off all circulation below the waist if he didn’t get inside her soon. Yes...it was time for the nuclear option. He started tracing quidditch plays on her clit, back and forth, up and down, and pumping his fingers in and out, tickling that one spot deep inside her that always did the trick... 

He knew she was coming the instant before it happened. In the middle of tracing a Wronski Feint, her breath caught in her throat and her walls started clenching around his fingers. Ginny let out a strangled, high-pitched wail as her entire body turned bright red, and with a few last pulsating thrusts, she screamed his name and shivered one final time.

Harry gently rose up from between her legs, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. She was still panting heavily, her hair sticking to her face in sweaty clumps. He appraised her thoughtfully, moving to spread her legs and nestle himself between them. _Not bad, Potter. That was_ _easily_ _a_ _n 8, maybe_ _a_ _9 out of 10._

“What are you looking so smug about?” Ginny muttered, her eyes still closed. 

Harry chuckled, positioning himself at her entrance. “Maybe because I’ve just given you one of your best orgasms _to date_.” He leaned forward and nipped her ear affectionately. 

“ _Mmm._ ” She was too tired to deny it. Ginny reached up to cup his face in her hands and finally opened her heavily-lidded eyes to stare back at him. 

 _Fucking hell_ , she really was beautiful, wasn’t she? Harry gazed at her, wondering for the millionth time how was it possible that this skinny, bespectacled little boy had gotten so lucky. He stroked the side of her face affectionately and bent down to give her a tender kiss.

Ginny, though, was not into the mood for sentimentality, not when the tip of his cock was brushing so tantalizingly against her entrance. In one fluid motion, she reached behind him and grabbed ahold of his bum, forcing him inside her completely. On the way in, his cock scraped across that _one spot_ again, the one deep inside her, and they shared a garbled, panting moan. Despite their best-laid plans, it was clear that neither one would be able to handle _hours_ of this.

Ginny kissed him hungrily ashe began to slowly drag himself in and out, the base of his cock providing the perfect, most delicious friction against her clit with every pass. He stared at her fiercely, determined – beyond anything else – to give her a second orgasm before he exploded. Her earlier assessment had been correct; it _was_ quite difficult to last longer than a minute when he could still taste her on his tongue. But now that she’d pointed it out, he wasn’t going to let that happen.

Fortunately for him, he didn’t think he had long to go. She was absolutely sopping, and he was beginning to feel the tiny contractions of her walls around him, little electric bursts that stopped and started at random intervals. Still, his cock was _aching;_ he slammed his eyes shut, determined not to think about the look on her face when he’d gotten her off. 

“ _God,_ I’m so hard,” he groaned, sliding into her again.“You get me _so_ fucking hard, Ginny. You know that?”

All she could do was moan beneath him, thrusting her hips even harder. She knew she was pressing her luck as is; she’d already gotten off once, after all. “Just let _go_ , Harry,” she whimpered, begging, but he wasn’t finished with her, not yet. 

“You first,” he managed, gritting his teeth. She offered him a kind smile and stroked his cheek; Harry had always hated coming alone while they were making love. 

So she nodded at him, breathing heavily, and snaked an arm down to her clit. She started rubbing in tiny circular motions, ones guaranteed to get her off...provided that Harry continued hitting her _just there_ with every thrust of his hips. 

Harry knew what she was after, knew that she was determined to come with him, so he readjusted himself to give her more space. He leaned back to grip her hips and he began pounding into her, his head now thrown back in wild abandon. She began rubbing more and more frantically, her face screwed up in concentration. She was making that little mewling sound again, the one that drove him  _fucking crazy,_ and if she didn’t come soon, he didn’t think he’d be able to hold on.

But thankfully, she was now meeting his every thrust, and her whole body was turning bright red — _yessss—_  and when she finally,  _finally_ pressed her index finger down hard and threw her head back, he knew she was right here. “Ok, Harry, _no_ _ww_ _w_ ,” she moaned, bringing up her legs and crying out as she tumbled over the edge again.

That was all he needed. He thrust one more time, and with a broken roar, Ginny felt him stiffen and release, spilling himself deep inside her even as her walls continued to pulse around him.

After a few moments of breathy silence, Harry gently pulled out of her and bent over to press a soft kiss to her lips. Ginny cracked open her eyes and met Harry’s gaze. The look on her face was tranquil,  _sedate_ , even, but her chest was still rising and falling a bit too quickly for her to be completely relaxed.

As such, Harry couldn’t say he was totally surprised when she abruptly leaned back and regarded him with an expression of total bewilderment, looking more alert than he’d seen her all day.

Then, she took a few more deep, restless breaths, looked him dead in the face, and flatly uttered: “I must be fucking _insane.”_

Harry laughed and kissed her on the forehead before turning out the lights with a wave of his wand. “And apparently,” he whispered, curling up behind her in the darkness, “you’re not _all that_ tired.” 

* * *

 On March 1st, something remarkable happened: Harry and Ginny were early for something. Between the two of them, they were notorious for running behind for things, especially since James and Albus had entered the scene. This time, they were meeting Ron and Hermione for dinner and drinks to celebrate Ron’s birthday.

 _Well,_ **I**   _get to have a drink or two, anyway_ , Harry thought as they slid into a booth. As long as he didn’t “get sloppy,” Ginny had never minded when he drank, even when she couldn’t. This was one of the many reasons he loved her.

They’d been at this restaurant enough times to know their usual orders, but Ginny’s food interests were a tad…different…these days. Beside him, she picked up a menu and bit her lip. He knew from experience that she was trying to figure out what sounded even remotely palatable; she’d already been sick a few times this week. Harry grabbed her free hand under the table and squeezed it gently, thumb rubbing slow circles on the back. He hated it when she didn’t feel well, especially when he had caused it. Even indirectly. To that point, he knew Ginny would say he was being ridiculous. Maybe one day, he’d believe her.

“Stop feeling guilty,” Ginny murmured as if reading his thoughts, her eyes still glancing up and down the page.

Harry just sighed a bit, leaning back. “Can’t help it. This is something I _can_ take the blame for.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and put the menu down. “And did you see me complaining? We _both_ wanted this, prat.” She knocked her foot against his beneath the table.

Harry shot her a sly grin. “I ‘spose.”

Ginny snorted. “There was nothing half-hearted about my enthusiasm. If you haven’t sorted that out by now, we’ve got bigger problems.”

A bluster of activity at the door caught their attention. Ron and a very pale Hermione had just bustled into the restaurant, scarves tucked around their necks to ward off gusts from the winter winds. Ginny waved over at them, but Ron just vaguely nodded in their direction. Hermione seemed to sway a bit on the spot, and in an instant, Ron had corralled her to a corner by the door, worry written across his freckled face. Hermione’s back was facing Harry and Ginny as Ron tucked a lock of frizzy hair behind her ears. 

“Wonder what all that’s about,” Harry muttered, picking up his beer. 

Ginny narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “I don’t know, but— _oh_.” Hermione had suddenly backed away from Ron, her hand clutched to her mouth. Without a second glance, she was frantically running to the loo in the back, ruffling the skirts of tables as she ran.

“Merlin’s balls,” Ginny whispered with a strange mixture of awe and disbelief. “I can’t believe it.”

Harry was thoroughly perplexed. “Can’t believe _what_?”

Before he got an answer, though, Ron approached them a bit sheepishly, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Happy birthday, brother,” Ginny offered coyly.

“Birthday, mate,” Harry agreed, brow still furrowed in confusion. And annoyance. Ginny wasn’t giving him a single hint as to what she’d discovered, but it must’ve been something _big_. 

“So I take it you had a nice Valentine’s Day?” A catlike smirk was spreading across his wife’s face. 

Ron smiled dreamily, eyes wandering to the space above their heads. Harry rolled his eyes, feeling vaguely repulsed; that was Ron’s trademark _thinking-illicit-though_ _t_ _s-about-Hermione_ face.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he replied, still grinning. But then, Harry watched the familiar dawn of realization cross his features. Ron turned back to his sister with his _own_ look of bewilderment. “Wait. How’d _you_ know—”

“Sorry, sorry!” chimed Hermione’s voice from the end of the table. She took a deep breath and motioned for Ron to slide into the booth before her, just as Ginny had done for Harry a few moments ago. It was a precautionary measure, based on the off-chance she felt sick during their meal.

_No way..._

“Sure you’re alright, love?” Ron asked Hermione softly as they settled into their seats. His expression was full of love and protectiveness, but underneath that, Ron’s blue eyes were alight with…was that  _excitement_?  _Joy_ , even? 

Oh,  _fucking hell_.

“So you’re pregnant too, then?” Harry blurted, tossing his menu across the table.

Ginny groaned next to him and slid her head into her hands. “ _Subtle_ , Harry.”

Ron, who had stopped listening at the mention of the _p-word_ , shot Hermione a sly sidelong grin and grasped for her hand under the table. But Hermione wasn’t looking back at him and giggling – she was staring at Harry and Ginny with a wide-eyed, alarmed look on her face. 

Ron whipped his head back to Harry. “Wait,” he demanded, his blue eyes narrowing. “What do you mean, pregnant _too_?”

Then there was a moment of tense silence.

Harry knew that Ron wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot. He was, however, permanently in denial about _certain activities_ that his best mate and sister engaged in on a regular basis, even after evidence of said activities had long-since presented itself in the forms of James and Albus.

And so, with that in mind, Harry amused himself in the mounting silence by counting down the seconds until Ron finally accepted yet another piece of... _evidence_...that he’d just as soon deny. 

Harry reckoned this would happen quite soon.

 _Annnny_ time now.

3….2….1…. 

“...oh, for _fuck’s_ sake, you had to marry my bloody sister!” Ron finally groaned. Although Hermione was still regarding Harry and Ginny with a look of perplexity, she managed to lightly slap her husband on the shoulder out of sheer habit.

Now, though, the pronouncement was undeniable. It was something concrete, a fact that they all had to accept, and the aftermath of this mutual realization was met with four different responses from four very different people: 

In an instant, Hermione appeared to have gotten over her shock and to have decided this was a good thing. She was now beaming excitedly at Harry and Ginny from across the table. She eagerly clasped her hands in front of her, as if poised on the brink of launching into a discussion about fetal development and hormone levels and pregnancy symptoms. 

Ron had tensed his jaw and was staring, wide-eyed, at a spot on the wall above Harry’s head. His face was stretched into a half-grimace, and it looked like he couldn’t quite settle between feeling disgusted and being pleased with himself.

Ginny, who refused to make eye contact with any of them, kept her head in her hands and stared at the table. However, the corners of her mouth were noticeably twitching beneath her palms.

And Harry, who thought the whole thing was hilarious, was just trying to contain his laughter. After a few more seconds, he gave up. 

“So-so I guess we _all_ had a happy Valentine’s Day, then!” he finally sputtered, and promptly dissolved into hysterics.

A second later, Ginny joined him; it was the type of laughter that started as a giggle, but bubbled up into something deeper, getting more and more ludicrous as time passed. Soon after, Hermione joined  _her,_ cackling just as heartily. And then, with the three of them guffawing and chortling and clutching their stomachs as they wiped amused tears away from their eyes, Ron finally started laughing, too.

That had done it; the tension was broken. 

As the four of them – well, the _six_ of them, really – sat there at the table sharing bashful grins and exchanging small talk, Harry’s heart soared with an unbridled sense of joy and fulfillment, a feeling more powerful and more pervasive than any he’d had in his life. A jubilant grin spread across his face as pride, euphoria, hope and compassion all danced harmoniously inside his chest, like they’d awoken from being dormant, like they’d been waiting patiently until their time.

And it was under this absurd, impenetrable haze of golden happiness that The Boy Who Lived numbly realized that he’d probably been waiting his entire life to finally feel this complete...to be surrounded — in equal measure — by people who loved him and people whom he loved. There was simply no space left in his mind to worry about Horcruxes or dementors or impending darkness; that bastard Tom Riddle had finally, _firmly_ been put in the ground, once and for all. 

All was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU so much for reading. I know I fudged the timeline with Lily/Hugo, but it just fit in with the other chapters! I had no choice but to keep pressing :)


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